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5 


REBECCA 


OR, A 

WOMAN’S SECRET. 


BY 


E I izaie-tK 

Afj?s. Caroline Fairfield Corbin. 

7 


‘‘ I have written truth, 

And I, a woman. * * « For the truth itself 

That’s neither man’s nor woman’s, but just God’s. 

/ E. B. Browning. 


CHIC A G O : 

CLARKE AND COMPANY. 

1868. 


TZs 

3 


Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 1868, 

By CLARKE & CO., 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Northern District 

of Illinois. , 



PRINTED AND BOUND BY 
THE WESTERN 

BOOK MANUFACTURING OO’Y, 
CHICAGO. 


TO 


John ^tuart JVIill, 


The Author vjould hereby express her Admiration and Gratitude^ 


FOR HIS NOBLE EFFORTS 


hi behalf of the. Enfranchisement of 


W O M A N, 


“Force rules the world still; 

Has ruled it; shnll rule it. 
Meekness is weakness; 

Strength is triumphant; 

Over the whole earth 
Still it is Thor’s day.” 

liONQFKLLOir, 


Ere long u fairer morn shall rise, 

With purer air, and brighter skies. 
When Force shall lay his scepter duwii^ 
And Strength shall abdicate his crown. 
And Love incarnate sway the race, 

With wisest power and tenderest grace. 


PEEFACE. 


It is not strictly as a work of art that this book appeals to public 
favor and criticism. It has not been written for immortality, but to 
serve, if it may, a single purpose to the present day and generation. 

It has seemed to the writer that the ideas of the relative positions 
of the sexes, the status and work of woman, and the nature and 
office of love, require a new setting forth at the hands of this genera- 
tion. The old method of expressing these things, and the old faith 
concerning them, were wise and good in the olden time ; but now, 
as in the days of Christ, new bottles must be fashioned for the new 
wine of advancing civilization. 

In attempting to contribute her mite to this yawning treasury, the 
writer has not been in the mood, indeed she is not sufficiently learned, 
to touch statistics, but has been content to leave them to the handling 
of those exact minds who are already working with so much effect- 
iveness among them. Neither could she always, from the nature of 
the work, cite authorities nor answer objections. Many themes have 
been simply touched, which would require volumes for their elabora- 
tion ; and many weighty arguments have been omitted, because they 
did not come within the scope of the work, or would have clogged too 
much the flow of the narrative. What the writer has mainly aimed 
to do, has been to get at a few underlying principles as old as the 
hills and place them in, possibly, a new light before the reader. 

Her grateful acknowledgments are due to Mrs. Alfred Clapp, of 
St. Louis, President of the Western Female Guardian Society, to 
whose earnest appeals and kind encouragement the inception and 
final accomplishment of this work are mainly owing; to Rev. Robert 
Collyer, of Unity Church, Chicago, for the generous and judicious 
loan of books, for some just criticism, which was also gentle, and 


6 


rilEFACE. 


for a kind appreciation of the purity of her purpose ; and to Dr. 
De Laskie Miller, Professor of Obstetrics in Rush Medical College, 
Chicago, for truest sympathy and most helpful help in the line of his 
professional knowledge and experience. 

Concerning anything in the subject matter of this book which 
may seem unusual, the writer can only say, that throughout her 
whole work she has labored under an imposition of conscience, and 


“ When God commands to take the trumpet, 
And blow a dolorous or a thrilling blast, 

It rests not with man’s will what he shall say. 
Or what he shall conceal.” 


It is only right to add, that she has made the subject of Prostitution 
and its causes one of thorough practical research, and speaks no 
more strongly concerning it than her knowledge of facts will warrant. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 
A Bachelor and a Babj - - - 

CHAPTER II. 

The Lion and the Mouse 


Woman’s Wit 

CHAPTER III. 

About Money-Lending 

CHAPTER IV. 


CHAPTER V. 

A Woman who was not Strong-Minded 

CHAPTER VI. 
Business versus Love Making 

CHAPTER VII. 

“They Twain shall be One Flesh ” 

CHAPTER VIII. 
Some Ideas Concerning a Woman’s Sphere 

CHAPTER IX. 


Hysterics - 

CHAPTER X. 

An Old Man’s Dream 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Making of Men 

CHAPTER XII. 


The Silent Shrew 


8 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XIIL 

Chiefly Metaphysical - - - ^ - - -129 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Hysterics, Male Species _ - . . - 139 

CHAPTER XV. 

A Deed Without a Name . - - - - 147 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Hen-Pecked ------- 154 

CHAPTER XVII. 

From Jerusalem to Jericho ----- 168 

CHAPTER XVIII. . 

An Embarrassed Lover - - - - - 177 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A Chapter which Weak-Minded Persons are Advised to Skip 191 
CHAPTER XX. 

A Motherless Child and a Childless Mother - - 205 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The Incapables - - - - - - - 216 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Among the “ Vines” - - - - - . 227 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Miss Ridalhuber’s Summer Bonnet - - - . 237 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

A ProfessionabVisit ------ 258 

CHAPTER XXV. 

The First Law of Courtship ----- 266 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Joel's Secret ------- 282 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

How Mrs. Moss Paid the Doctor - - - - 289 


CONTENTS. 


9 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


A Man’s Love - 


CHAPTER XXIX. 
The Right of a Woman to have a Husband 

CHAPTER XXX. 
The Verdict of the Sewing Circle 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Milton Gaines, Jr. - - _ 

CHAPTER XXXII 
Rose Color - - - - . 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 
The Right of a Man to Whip his Wife - 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 
The Ark of the Lord in Tabernacles 

CHAPTER XXXV. 
The Power that is Stronger than Love - 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

A Love that was Free . _ . 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

The Flower of the Ages - - - - 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
Our Best Society - . - - 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

A Sacrifice for the Public Good - 

CHAPTER XL. 

Two Equal Souls ; one Round, Perfected, Whole 


299 

30S 

31S 

325 

333 

341 

355 

363 

273 

383 

394 

409 

426 


CHAPTER XLI. 

The Pestilence that Walketh in Darkness; the Destruction that 
Wasteth at Noonday ----- 


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M ► . .. 


A WOMAN’S SECRET. 


I. 


A BACHELOR AND A BABY. 

It was a gray March morning, chill and windy, with a 
dampness in the air which promised rain. Dr. Milton 
Gaines standing upon the steps of his lodging-house and 
prospecting the weather, felt that it would be unsafe to 
start upon his journey without his umbrella, and stepped 
back into the hall, to unstrap it from his valise, and 
unbutton it for instant use. 

Being a deliberate man, this occupied him for some 
minutes, and when at last he again took up his valise and 
drew out his silver watch to look at the time, he saw that 
he had only a few minutes left in which to reach the train. 

“It is — time — I was — going,” said the doctor, “time I 
was going. The cars start at nine o’clock. It won’t do 
to be left. I — shall — have — to hurry.” 

This was a weighty resolution for the doctor to arrive 
at, but when he was once in motion, you saw that, not- 
withstanding his fifty years and his two hundred and odd 
pounds avoirdupois, he was equal to the emergency. He 
was broad shouldered and strong of limb, and without 
seeming to walk very fast, he yet got over the ground in 
a way which would have severely tried the wind of many 
a more boastful pedestrian. 

His eyes meanwhile were minutely scanning the scene 
befoTe him. The doctor did not often visit the city, and 


12 


A woman’s secret. 


when he did, lie meant to lose nothing which came in his 
way. 

“A city is not the place I should choose to live in,'’ 
the doctor was wont to say, “hut there is a great deal to 
he learned in a city, a — great deal— to he — learned. 
AVhen I undertake the expense of a journey to the city, 
I always try to get my money’s worth in information^ if 
nothing more.” 

A few blocks down the street, you would have noticed 
a curious expression coming into his eyes ; deep grey 
eyes, set under a ponderous mass of hrow,. and overhung 
hy hushy eyebrows. His gaze was fixed upon some 
object just in advance of him. When within a dozen 
paces of it, his resolution to hurry seemed to encounter 
an obstacle, for gradually, as if an invisible engineer had 
whistled “down brakes,” the doctor retarded the motion 
of his two hundred and odd pounds avoirdupois, and just 
as he reached the said object, very deliberately brought 
himself to a stand. 

“What’s — ^this? What’s — this?” asked the doctor. 

A ragged but honest-looking street child, a girl of 
fourteen, perhaps, stood holding a delicate, well-dressed 
babe in her arms, and crying bitterly. 

“A woman, sir, gave me this child to hold an hour 
ago, and she hasn’t come back yet: she said I was to 
hold it until she came back; but if I don’t go home soon 
mother’ll beat me. Oh ! dear. Oh ! dear.” 

“Mother’ll beat you, will she. Well ! ” this to himself, 
“what — are — you — going to do — with — the child?” 

“I don’t know, sir.” 

The babe meanwhile had fixed her bright eyes upon 
the doctor’s face, and was regarding him with the steady 
unwinking gaze peculiar to infants. The doctor had been 
only curious at first, he was a very inquisitive man, but 


A woman’s secret. 


13 


gradually he seemed to look at the matter in a different 
light. He shifted his umbrella to the hand which earned 
his valise, and settled himself into a comfortable position 
for scientific observation. 

‘‘Good — clear — eye,” he soliloquized, “soft skin, no 
humors. He touched the child. She didn’t seem afraid 
of him, but put out her hands as if willing to go to him. 
Of this he took no notice, but examined her clothing. 
“ H — m ! H — m ! Looks healthy, clothes Avell made ; about 
fo ur — m onths — old.” 

The doctor was not a man to be seized by hasty 
impulses. Quite the contrary; but he was by nature kind, 
though if you had faced him with the accusation, he 
would have looked vacantly off into space, and whistled 
meditatively, instead of replying to you. Besides, he had 
an ulterior motive. When the doctor had a grave project 
in view, ten waiting railroad trains, all in the last agony 
of screaming impatience, would not have moved him a 
hair’s breadth. Therefore, he still stood looking at the 
babe and — thinking. 

Just then a policeman happened along, on his way to 
the City Hall ; a prompt man of swift, sure motions. He 
took in the whole thing at a glance. 

“A case of desertion, sir. Happens about twice a 
week on the average. Come with me,” to the child. 

“ Stop — stop,” said the doctor with great gravity. 
“Wait a minute; where — are — you — going — to take — ■ 
that child ? ” 

“Send her up to the Island — Ward’s Island. What we 
do with all of ’em.” 

“What becomes of them?” 

“ City provides for ’em. Sometimes people adopt ’em.” 

The policeman scented a benevolent stranger in the 
doctor. 


14 


A woman’s secret. 


“H— m! h— m!” said the doctor deep in reverie. 
“ H— m ! ” and then he whistled gravely. “Adopt ’em ! ” 
looking at the child. “Black hair and eyes; sharp 
features.” 

“Yes,” said the policeman, laughing, and inclined to 
hurry up the doctor’s deliberations, “ don’t look at all like 
you. No cause for scandal. Better take it.” 

The doctor did not look in the least appreciative. He 
never did when the joke was at his expense. 

“Any bonds to be given? Any papers to be made out? 
How do you know but the woman will come back?” 

“ Oh ! no fear of that,” said the policeman, knowingly. 
“They never do come back. As for the papers, there is 
a form that is sometimes gone through with, but it don’t 
amount to anything more than costs to the lawyers. Just 
give me a dollar to drink your health and keep ofi the 
rheumatism, you know, and you may take this one along 
and no more words about it.” 

The doctor looked green, but he wasn’t. 

“I’ve lost the train,” he said, “I shall have to wait all 
day. I’ll go through with the forms. I’m a country 
doctor, sir, a country doctor ; and country doctors ride far 
for small fees, but I can stand the costs, sir, for all that. 
I — can — stand — the — costs ? ” 

The little cavalcade had taken up its line of march, by 
this time, to the City Hall. The girl demurred, but the 
doctor quietly told her he guessed she’d better go along ; 
and that settled it. It required but a few minutes to 
register the doctor’s name and address. He then started 
off with his baby — his by right of adoption — towards the 
boarding house which he had just left, the ragged girl 
still acting the part of nurse. As they came out of the 
City Hall gates, the grave, respectable old man, followed 
by the girl and baby, and unaccompanied by the police 


A woman’s secret. 


15 


officer, a slight, youthful woman, in k plain gray dress, 
stood watching them from a shady corner of the park. 
There was an eager, wistful look upon her pale face, and 
for a moment it seemed as if she would follow them. But 
suddenly her eye rested upon the lettered valise. It read 
“Milton Gaines, M. D., Wyndham.” Apparently she gave 
up her purpose then, and disappeared. 

The doctor was a little nervous about being seen upon 
the street with a baby. It was a great relief to him, there- 
fore, when he reached his boarding house, and consigned 
the infant to the care of Mrs. Crane, its mistress. Then, 
mindful of the beating, the apprehension of which had 
been the means of attracting his attention to the deserted 
child, he produced his well-worn leather pocket-book, drew 
therefrom a goodly roll of bills, and selecting with much 
care a one dollar note, gave it to the girl. 

“ There,” he said, “ give that to your mother. It’s a 
little torn, but it will pass — it’s good — and tell her not to 
beat you.” 

The doctor’s cadences and inflections were all peculiar 
to himself. His measured, even tones, as if the waves of 
emotion, which toss other souls, and lift and sway the 
current of expression, were strangers to his seas, were very 
impressive ; and this child, to whom he had scarcely before 
addressed a word of any personal import, looked upon him 
with admiration, and a certain kind of awe. I believe 
that, as she walked home-, thinking of her adventure, she 
rather envied the poor, abandoned babe, who had found so 
grand a friend. 

Mrs. Crane was a woman whom the doctor had known 
for years, and in whom he could confide, and the two were 
very busy all that day. First, he had the forms, as he 
called them, to go through with. It was very easy, nothing 
more so, to prove himself a proper person to be entrusted 
with a child. His banker and his lawyer were both pro- 


16 


A woman’s secret. 


duced, with due ceremony, to aiSrm that he was a highly 
respectable bachelor of unexceptional character and good 
estate, a worthy citizen, and an ornament to his profession. 
The city officials were most profoundly gracious in his 
presence, and behind liis back nodded to each other, 

“Solid! Got the rocks! But a queer old customer, 
isn’t he?” 

This, that to some men would have been a most annoying 
task, gave the doctor a profound satisfaction. The officers 
of a great city were, ex-officio, men of importance. He had 
appeared before them with credit, had impressed them 
with a sense of his solid worth and consideration in the 
community in which he lived; had, in fact, shown them 
that he was a share-holder in metropolitan wealth, for his 
banker had not failed to mention that he owned both real 
estate and bank stock in the great city. The whole town, 
concreted in its elected officers, had acknowledged and 
bowed to him. It did him good. 

Mrs. Crane was, meanwhile, revolving projects for the 
conveyance of her charge to its new home. To her it 
seemed a matter of difficulty, but the doctor settled all 
that with a few words. 

“ There’s a ten dollar bill, Mrs. Crane; you will get the 
child whatever it needs for the journey. Then, if you can 
provide me a good girl, to take care of it on the way. I’ll 
pay her expenses, and as much more as she thinks right. 
Understand me, I don’t want a permanent nurse girl, only 
some one for the journey.” 

“ But, doctor, what are you going to do with it ?” 

“Don’t know, don’t know,” said the doctor. “Can’t 
tell, must wait and see. Can tell better by and by. What 
I want now is a girl for the journey.” 

Fortunately Mrs. Crane could supply this desideratum, 
and the evening’s boat carried the little party out of the 
great city, to the quiet shades of rural Wyndham. 


A woman’s secret. 


17 


IL 

THE LION AND THE MOUSE. 

Moses Moss was the cobbler of Wyiidham. His little 
brown cottage, standing apart from the town, in the corner 
of a bit of pasture, with only an ancient chestnut on one 
side, and an elm in the front of it, and a tiny thread of a 
brook winding through its alders just below, to give it a 
picturesque look, hadnotat all the air of being of importance 
in any story. But on this particular morning, of which we 
write, the situation within its four rude walls was highly 
dramatic. 

Moses himself was at his wits’ ends. In fact, though 
he was what is called a good natured man, it was a short 
road to the end of his wits. The truth was, his wife, 
decidedly the better half of him, was sick in her bed, for 
the eleventh time, of that same illness. There was no 
warm, soft morsel of pink humanity wrapped up in flannels 
this time. Poor broken-down nature had failed in the 
last crowning essential of life-giving. They had borne 
out the little, still, cold body, the semblance of a living 
baby, and consigned it to the care of mother nature, who 
has uses for all such things, and never scorns the humblest 
gift. 

In the little bed-room, which opened oflT the living room, 
kitchen, dining-room, nursery, all in one, — parlor there was 
none — ^lay Rachel Moss, groaning with pain, the consequence 
of nature’s efforts to restore her poor worn-out, shattered 
frame, drained of all its best forces by this constant 
creating and equipping of new lives, to something like 
working order. The noise from the kitchen distracted 
her; the cry of her year-old baby, who fretted with his 
A2 


18 


A woman’s secret. 


coming teeth, tore her heart with nervous sympathy and 
yearning; and the impatient fretting and scolding of her 
husband, who was trying to keep the children in order, 
and get them dressed, and at the same time prepare theii’ 
scanty breakfast, added the last note to the screeching 
discord which assailed her. 

“I say, Rachel,” he said, appearing at the door, “can’t 
you call some of the children in there. They’re all right 
’round underfoot, and a-yellin’ and a-screamin’ so’t I can’t 
hear myself think. I do wish you would hurry and get 
well, or I shall go crazy.” 

With that the mother raised her feeble voice: “Sallie, 
bring the baby here, and put him in my bed. Now bring 
the comb, and comb your hair. Poor baby, mamma’s 
sorry for him. Let mamma rub his little gums.” 

Moses had still as much as he could deal with outside. 
He was a short, round-favored man, with a red face which 
hinted of whiskey, a muddy blue eye, but, on the whole, 
an expression of that kind of good nature which comes 
from a lymphatic temperament, and a want of those keen, 
nervous forces, which, if they make a man irritable, also 
make him capable. Just now, however, whatever there 
was in him of resistance was roused to its utmost. The 
brood around him was very numerous and very insubor- 
dinate. There was first, Theodore, a boy of fourteen. 
After him, Jane, and then some six or eight, — it is imma- 
terial, — crude youngsters, some inheriting the paternal 
obesity, some the maternal angularity, and rejoicing, it 
seemed to an uninitiated observer, quite indiscriminately 
in the names of Sallie, Tommy, Teddy, Belindy, and the 
like. Then there was Theodore’s dog. Badger, an ill- 
looking cur of some mongrel breed, and chiefly remarkable 
for its ugliness, both physical and moral; and at last a 
great gray cat, wonderfully sleek and well-conditioned, 
considering that it stood at the tail of so long a line of 


A woman’s secret. 


19 


mouths. The truth was, that Diana, or Di-a-ny, as the 
family orthoepy went, was a mighty huntress, and so had 
resources of her own. In fact, she owed her name to 
this accomplishment, and the inkling of mythological 
lore which Mrs. Moss had contrived to pick up in her 
somewhat heterogeneous reading. These all, it seemed 
this morning to Moses, were separate sources of anarchy 
and misrule. 

“Children,” broke out the distracted paterfamilias at 
length, “if you don’t stop this racket, this infernal hulla* 
hello. I’ll horsewhip every one of you.” 

“ Specially Theodore,” added the five-year-old Belinda, 
gravely; and the specialty was well taken, for that 
hopeful youth had harnessed the cat and dog together 
with hemp twine, to the infinite harrassment of those two 
sworn foes, who were manifesting the same by sundry 
edifying yelps and growls. 

“Theodore, get out of this house and take that dog 
with you,” roared Moses. “Now, Jane, take up the 
potatoes, and we’ll try to get some breakfast.” 

“Pa,” said Belinda, “Theodore’s going to set Badg on 
to that woman. Don’t let him. May be she’s coming to 
bring us something good.” 

Moses rose from the seat at table where he had just 
bestowed himself, with a groan. Ordinarily he would 
have paid little attention to any freak of Theodore, but 
this morning he felt that if any woman was approaching 
his door it was for his best interest to conciliate her. A 
woman, somehow, just then seemed to Moses a most 
desirable thing. He rushed out of doors hatless, expecting 
to see some woman of the village bringing, perhaps, a 
bowl of gruel to Mrs. Moss. He was too much excited 
to discriminate, and seizing a stick of wood, with which, 
used as a missile, to persuade Badg into a retreat, 
exclaimed to Theodore : 


20 


A woman’s secret. 


“Go into tlie house, you villain. I’ll teach you to 
insult a woman.” 

“I wish you’d just make up your mind where you want 
me,” said Theodore, with a provoking semblance of 
humility. “’Tain’t three minutes since you sent me out 
doors. Guess I’ll go in and get my breakfast while the 
fit is on ye.” 

Moses had discovered by this time that the female in 
question was a stranger to him. She was young, at least 
not thirty, it seemed to him, with a pale and rather pretty 
face, that yet had a look of sorrow in it, which even 
Moses’ blunt perceptions could not fail to notice. She 
-wore a plain gray dress, and her whole appearance was 
neat and lady-like. She stood just outside the gate, 
having wisely kept that defense between her and Badg’s 
teeth. 

“Mornin’, ma’am,” said Moses, with as bland an air 
as he could assume at a moment’s notice — “was you 
a-coming in?” 

“I wished to stop,” she said uneasily, yet with a voice 
that must ordinarily be a very cheerful and pleasant one, 
“to inquire if you knew of any one who needed help. I 
want to get a situation as — as — a servant.” 

“Want to hire out, do you?” said Moses, easily putting 
her application into the vernacular of the district. 

“Yes, sir, that’s it.” 

Moses was about to answer in the negative, when a 
bold thought struck him. He had never in all his married 
life hired a day’s work done in the house, but never before, 
it seemed to him, had things come to just such a desperate 
pass as on this morning. If this woman’s services could 
be obtained, he felt justified in employing her; whether 
or not she was ever paid, was her own lookout. 

“What wages do you ask?” inquired Moses, putting on 
as shrewd a look as he was capable of. 


A woman’s secret. 


21 


“I’m not very particular about wages at present,” she 
said. “I want to find a home; and when I have shown 
what I can do, it will be time enough to decide about 
wages.” 

“That’s sensible,” said Moses. “’Tain’t everybody 
that feels so, though. But you don’t look as if you knew 
much about house work.” • 

The woman waived the question. “Were you wishing 
to hire?” she asked. 

“Well, yes,” said Moses, rather sheepishly, “I was 
thinkin’ of it. Ye see, my old w^oman’s sick — that is, she’s 
laid up, and what with the children and all, I ain’t getting 
on very well. I don’t know’s I can promise very big pay, 
but if you’re a mind to come in, and take hold, ye can 
have your vittles, least wise for a day or two. After that 
ye can look around and do better, may be.” 

The woman looked at the house. It was very humble, 
but after all had not the squalid look she might have 
expected from its ownier’s appearance. After a moment’s 
reflection, she replied : 

“I think I will stop, thank you; if your wife is sick, I 
may at least be able to do her some good.” 

Moses opened the gate with the look of a man who has 
driven a shrewd bargain, and is well pleased with himself 
therefor, and escorted his help into the house. 

“You can sit down. Miss . I didn’t ask your 

name.” 

“Rebecca March,” she replied, after a moment’s hesi- 
tation. 

“Very well. Miss March, we were just having breakfast, 
as you see, and if you’ll take off your things you may as 
well sit up to the table with us.” 

“Thank you,” said Rebecca, “I’ve breakfasted already. 
Perhaps while you are eating I’d better go and sit with 
the sick lady.” 


22 


A woman’s secret. 


“Very well,” said Moses, looking pleased, “I’ll show 
you in there.”* 

As they entered the bed room, Moses addressed his wife : 

“Mother, this is Miss March. She wants to hire out and 
ain’t particular about wages, and I thought I’d have her 
stay here a day or two, till we get a little to rights again. 

name’s Moses Moss,” to Miss Rebecca, “and this is 
Mrs. Moss.” 

The introduction thus successfully accomplished, Moses 
withdrew, leaving the two women together. 

“I’m glad to see you, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Moss, faintly. 
“I’m afraid you won’t want to stay long, though.” 

The stranger, wdth quick, silent, womanly intuitions, 
was taking in the whole significance of the scene. The 
poor, meager furniture of the room, the pale, sick face, with 
its hollow eyes, and matted, yellow hair, the hard struggle 
for neatness and self-respect, against weakness and j)ov- 
erty, and that horde of active, healthy, untrained children. 
The hopeless sorrow and dejection of her face seemed 
softened by a shade. Here, at least, she could be useful, 
could win back confidence in herself and hei’ ability to 
struggle with the hard problems of her life. Th^ energy, 
and cheerfulness, and vivacity of her nature, which some 
great storm of sorrow would seem to have over-swejit and 
paralyzed, began to tremble again into conscious life and 
action. 

“You’ve been having a hard time,” she said to Mrs. 
Moss, after the latter had given her a little account of her 
illness. “ But you must give up all care now, and we’ll 
keep you as still as possible, and in a few days I think 
you’ll be better.” 

Then she went quietly to work to comb out the long, 
yellow hair, and put it up comfortably under the cap. She 
bade the sufferer be quite still, while she gently washed 
her face and hands with tepid water. She smoothed the 


A woman’s secret. 


23 


pillows and straightened the bed clothes, and asking a few 
words of direction, went out into the kitchen and made a 
bowl of very palatable gruel. Thus rested and refreshed, 
Mrs. Moss declared herself able to get a little sleep, if 
left alone. Therefore, breakfast being over by this time, 
Rebecca went out and closed the door, and began upon 
her day’s work in the kitchen. 

It seemed at first an almost hopeless task to bring order 
out of the confusion and anarchy which Moses’ short reign 
had introduced. But that dignitary, glad to resign his 
scepter into hands apparently so worthy, took himself oft' 
to the village tavern, and left a clear field for his successor. 
He couldn’t have done her a greater favor. 

The first thing necessary was to organize her forces. 
Jane was set to washing dishes; Theodore was cajoled, 
by the promise of sweet cake for dinner, into sawing wood 
with which to cook it. The baby was fed and put to sleep, 
and the remainder of the urchins delighted with the task 
of finding out how many noses there were in the illustrations 
of an old copy of Fox’s Book of Martyrs, which Rebecca 
had found upon the shelf. It was a new idea, and took 
amazingly. 

With her forces so disposed, the new housemaid set 
about a rigorous process of sweeping, and dusting, and 
scouring, until, by ten o’clock, the little room was made so 
neat and cheerful that one would scarcely have recognized 
it for the same disorderly, dirty place she had entered in 
the morning. The coarse rag carpet was so cleanly and 
thoroughly swept, that it seemed to have been dipped in 
new dyes, so clear and bright its colors shone. The paper 
curtains at the windows were rolled up evenly, and let in 
the bright spring sunshine over the floor ; the table and 
chairs were all in their places ; the few books upon the 
clock-shelf were well dusted, and arranged in proper 
order. Robinson Crusoe, and Bunyan’s Pilgrim, and 


24 


A woman’s secret. 


Thaddeus of Warsaw, Don Quixote, and The Scottish 
Chiefs, making a very goodly assemblage, with coats so 
little torn, and faded, and soiled, as to testify to the care 
which somebody had exercised over them during the 
boisterous infancy of all these children. Whatever else 
went to destruction in that house, books were always held 
sacred by Mrs. Moss. 

Rebecca’s face looked really cheerful, the children were 
good natured, and even old Diana, coming in from her 
morning hunt, and finding that Badg had been put out of 
doors, with the bribe of a great marrow-bone, which would 
keep him busy for an hour at least, lay down by the fire, 
and after licking herself into becoming neatness, curled 
herself up for a nap. 

“ Do hear Diany,” said Sallie, who had attended singing 
school all winter. “When she’s cross she always purrs in 
short meter ; when she’s pleased, in 1-o-n-g meter ; she’s 
purring real old long meter doxology now.” 

Just then there was a cry from the commentators on the 
martyrs, who were clustered about a window. 

“ Here comes the doctor ! Here comes the doctor !” 

Rebecca, who was moulding a batch of bread at the 
kitchen table, stopped for a moment, and turned very 
pale. Then she went on with an effort at composure, just 
lifting her eyes to glance out at the shabby old chaise and 
sturdy white horse which had stopped at the gate, and 
from which Dr. Gaines alighted. 

The doctor opened the door without ceremony, and 
walked in. He didn’t speak at first, running his eye critic- 
ally over the details of the room. 

“H’m! H’m!” to himself. Then, with a civil bow to 
Rebecca, “ Good morning, ma’am.” 

“ Good morning,” she replied, commencing to work her 
hands out of the dough, for the purpose of attending t<? him. 

“ Oh! don’t hurry,” said the doctor, “don’t hurry. I’m 


A woman’s secret. 25 

— going— to warm— my hands. Moses isn’t at home, it 
seems.” 

“ No, sir. He went out after breakfast.” 

“You’re some relation of his, I take it?” 

“No, sir.” 

“ H’m ! You go out nursing ? ” 

She hesitated a little and colored. “Not exactly; I 
happened in here, and seeing how much help was needed, 
concluded to remain a day or two.” 

“ H’m ! What — is — your name ? ” squarely, as if it had 
been a judicial duty to ask it. 

“ Rebecca March, sir.” 

“ You don’t live around here, I reckon? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

The investigation was getting painful to Rebecca. The 
doctor saw it, and calculated on the sooner getting at what 
he wanted to know. 

“ Have lived in the city, I judge ? ” 

“I don’t know why you judge so,” she said, with the 
sweet severity impossible except to a woman, “ unless 
because my manners are different from those of country 
people.” 

By this time she had her hands clear of the dough, and 
went into Mrs. Moss’ room, leaving the doctor to meditate. 
If Miss March desired ever to be on good terms with the 
doctor, she had greatly periled her cause, for his self-love 
was very tender, and his memory very long. In one way 
only could she hope to make him forget the affront she had 
offered him. To solid, substantial worth he was never 
contumacious. 

Rebecca found Mrs. Moss awake and smiling; evidently 
she had heard the conversation. 

“I’m glad you said it,” she exclaimed; “the doctor is 
so meddlesome. But, then, he’s a good man, and a first 
rate doctor. Let him come right in.” 

R 


26 


A woman’s secret. 


The doctor didn’t make a long call. The door into the 
kitchen was open, and he asked no more questions about 
Miss March. But he looked around the bedroom, 
remarked its neatness, and the tidy appearance of the 
bed, and as he reached the door going out, having first 
satisfied himself that Rebecca was not within hearing, he 
said: “I don’t know who that woman is. It isn’t any 
matter. You’d better keep her a few days. Better — 
keep — her — a — few — days.” 

But the doctor wasn’t balked yet. On his way home 
he met Moses, and drew his old gray horse to a deliberate 
halt. 

“ That’s — a — pretty — good — looking — woman you’ve 
got at your house, Moses. Who is she?” 

“Yes,” said Moses, who had evidently been comforting 
himself with a glass. “Yes, sir, pretty trim built. 
Wants to hire out. Do you know of anybody who wants 
help?” 

“No, no,” said the doctor, pensively. I don’t know 
of anybody that wants help. From the city ? ” 

“ I reckon so, by the looks. Come along by my house 
this morning, and wanted to know if I knew anybody 
wanting to hire. Things wasn’t going just right — never 
do, you know, when the woman’s laid up — so I took her. 
Guess she’ll do.” 

“Yes,” said the doctor, again with that pensive inflec- 
tion. “She’ll do. She’ll— do. G’long.” 


A woman’s secret. 


27 


III. 

woman’s wit. 

Dr. Gaines felt an interest in this stranger. First,, 
because she was a woman, and the doctor, though a 
bachelor, had a weakness for women. Second, because 
she was so pretty a woman, and so evidently out of place 
in Moses Moss’ cottage; and third, and not least, because 
the doctor had for years been the best informed man in 
the town, concerning all its domestic history, and he 
didh’t like to leave such a neat little mystery as this 
unfathomed. 

Intellectual philosophers assert that all objective knowl- 
edge is obtained in two ways, by observation and testi- 
mony. The latter resource having failed him, the doctor 
was thrown back upon observation. Therefore, when he 
called at the cottage next morning, he became more than 
usually social, and prolonged his call at least fifteen 
minutes beyond its usual limits. 

But Rebecca had a little the start of him. She had 
been having a chat with Mrs. Moss concerning him, and 
was by this means well up in his peculiarities. It was 
strange how these two women seemed to take to each 
other. Mrs. Moss had had too much hard work to do all 
her life, and was, besides, for reasons which will develop 
themselves hereafter, too unsocial in her habits to be a 
gossip. Therefore, if she thought at all concerning the 
previous history of this stranger, she cherished no 
curiosity on the subject. She knew that Rebecca was 
refined and gentle in her manners, to a degree which had 
never been possible to her. She read in her face the 
traces of deep sorrow, to which her tried, sympathetic 


28 


A WOMAN’S SECEET. 


heart responded fully ; and she felt, moreover, the deepest 
gratitude for the gentle, womanly help she had received 
from her. In her eyes, Rebecca was a lady, an angel, a 
ministering spirit, and by all these claims possessed 
herself of the jjoor woman’s gratitude and admiration. 

As for Rebecca, I think it was simply the feeling of 
community in sorrow which drew her toward Mrs. Moss. 
In her helplessness and humility, too, she felt that it was 
a great thing to gain shelter in a virtuous home, however 
poor it might be. She had a deadly fear of being observed 
and questioned, and in truth it had not been boldness but 
sheer desperation which had resolved her to rebuff the 
doctor as she had done. After he had gone, the reaction 
had saddened her. Mrs. Moss had even detected tears in 
her eyes, and a dejection in her manner which the good 
woman felt determined to cheer. 

“You mustn’t mind the doctor,” she had said. “He’s 
the oddest man living, but he’s very kind. What do you 
think he did the other day, when he was down to New 
York?” 

Rebecca looked up with deep interest in her manner. 

“ Why, he found a poor little baby on the street, that its 
cruel mother had left, and he just took it home with him 
to adopt.” 

“Hasn’t he children of his own?” asked Rebecca, in a 
low tone. 

“ Bless you, no. He ain’t married ! ” 

“Who will take care of the baby, then?” 

“Oh! there’s women enough about the house. There’s 
his mother, old Mrs. Gaines, she’s just the finest woman 
in these parts. A real, nice woman she is. And then 
there’s Joanna, that’s an old maid sister of the doctor’s. 
I wish you could see Miss Joanna, she’s such a sweet 
lady. She’s tall like the doctor, but not fleshy — quite 
thin and so pale She lost her lover when she was a girl, 


A woman’s secret. 


29 


and so has never married. The doctor has often said that 
Joanna ought to many, just to have a baby. He’s so fond 
of children. And then he says every woman needs 
the care and company of children to make them really 
women. I reckon he was thinking of Joanna, as much as 
anybody, when he took that baby.” 

“And how was Joanna pleased?’ 

“Lucretia, that’s their hired girl, she’s been with ’em 
thirty years or more, said it was the queerest sight to see 
her. First, she seemed to be afraid to handle it, for feai 
’twould break, and she was as bashful about it as a young 
girl ; but after a little she got used to it, and now she 
takes all manner of care of it. Day nor night she won’t 
never let it out of her sight. She’s got a little crib for 
it, and it sleeps right in front of her bed, and there’s no 
end to the pretty clothes she’s making for it. Lucretia 
says it seems as if she’s grown ten years younger 
already. And there’s such a pretty color a-comin’ into 
her face.” 

Rebecca’s face was very pale. She couldn’t speak, so 
she hushed the wailing, year old babe, in her arms, and 
began to walk with it up and down the room, holding it 
so tightly, oh ! so tightly, to her breast. 

Mrs. 3I0SS went on: “The doctor is so fond of his 
mother and sister — he just thinks his two eyes of ’em. 
Never says much, but then he’s so careful of ’em. For 
that matter. Dr. Gaines knows the most about women of 
any man I ever saw. It seems to me, sometimes, that 
most men are born fools, or else stark, staring mad, about 
women. They’ll be sensible enough about everything 
else, but when they come to that one thing, they act just 
as if they hadn’t eyes in their head nor understanding in 
their brains; and they mean well enough, too, a good 
many times. The Lord help ’em.” 

This last exclamation was sjDoken in such an earnest, 


30 


A woman’s secret. 


heartfelt way, that Rebecca, in spite of herself, was forced 
to smile. 

“ I don’t know what it was,” continued Mrs. Moss, “ that 
made the doctor so different from other men, ’less ’twas 
having such a mother. I tell you, to make a first-rate man 
you’ve got to give him a first-rate mother. Then, being a 
doctor, and setting so much by Joanna, that’s been a help 
to him, till it just seems as if there wasn’t nothing about a 
woman that he didn’t know. He can just tell when they 
need medicine, and when they need kind o’ pityin’, and when 
they need cheerin’ up with a bright word or a pleasant 
smile. ’Pears to me, if more men knew as much, there 
wouldn’t be so many miserable, broken-down women in 
the world. But, then, as I was saying, he’s dreadful 
inquisitive. I do think he got the habit prying into all 
the causes of his patient’s sickness; for what makes folks 
sick ain’t often on the surface, to my way o’ thinkin’, and 
the doctor is awful inquisitiye ; but, then, he don’t mean 
no harm, and he don’t often say much. If I had a secret 
that I really wanted to keep, I should think a pretty good 
way to do it would be to tell it to the doctor, for then he’d 
stop prying ; and, if you told him in confidence, two yoke 
of oxen couldn’t draw it out of him.” 

If this had been said as a suggestion, it failed of its 
intended effect, for Rebecca only held the child closer to 
her bosom, and continued to walk up and down the room, 
her face retaining its fixed, steady look. 

Yet, somehow, this long gossiping talk with Mrs. Moss 
had softened Rebecca’s heart toward the doctor. The 
look of sickening, deathly anxiety faded from her eyes, 
and if her nights were sometimes spent in weeping, she 
had yet courage and cheerfulness, during the day, to 
brighten up that somber home with the soft, spiritual 
illumination which only the presence of a gentle, loving 
woman can supply, and make the place seem nearer heaven 


A woman’s secret. 


31 


to Moses Moss than any he could rememher in the whole 
course of his life, unless, j^erhaps, the warmth and shelter 
of his mother’s bosom, or his own home during those first 
months or years before the gold of his married life had 
tarnished. For even Moses, bound thrall that he was to 
his slavish, sensual appetites, could remember rare occa- 
sions on which he had turned his soul sunwards and caught 
glimpses^ through his dimmed and bleared vision, of a 
spiritual light and beauty, of which his ordinary life was 
very bare. These scanty flashes of illumination occurred 
while the priestess at his altar retained the spiritual 
strength and freshness of her youth, before years of ignor- 
ant and profane handling had converted her from a house- 
hold divinity to a household drudge. 

This pure womanly presence brought with it, its insepa- 
rable blessings of light, and life, and love. Moses felt the 
stirring of faint regrets and ancient tendernesses toward 
his patient, sufiering wife. The clean, well-ordered home, 
weaned him, for the time, from his tavern haunts ; the 
children, awed or coaxed into submission by the cheerful 
Rebecca, became once more his delight ; and poor Rachel, 
lying upon her bed, felt an unexpected strain of sweetness 
flowing into her life, and silently thanked God. 

The days had grown to weeks ; Rachel was sitting up, 
and began to talk of taking hold of household tasks again. 

“ Do you keep still,” said Rebecca, quietly ; “ I require 
no wages of you, and the food I eat is no loss to the 
family, for you’d not be a bit more forehanded six months 
from now, if I were away. In fact, I rather think, by 
superior economy, I save you more than that amount. 
There may not come such a season of rest to you again 
for years. Therefore keep quiet. I’ll be ansAverable for 
Mr. Moss’ good behavior; and do you give yourself time 
to get back a little of your wasted youth.” 

The doctor, who still dropped in once or twice a week, 


82 


A woman’s secret. 


confirmed this advice, talking over the matter in a quiet 
way, which brought out the fact that, though Rebecca had 
not lost sight of her original intention of going out to 
service, she was not in immediate or pressing need of 
doing so. The doctor had not forgotten to pursue his 
laudable researches, and while he sat gossiping in Mrs. 
Moss’ kitchen, he bent a very penetrating eye upon Miss 
March. Looking upon her in that shrewd and practiced 
way of his, he saw, or fancied he did, something which 
set the wheels of conjecture buzzing in his brain — an 
intangible something that suggested dumbly, like a pre- 
monition, that, in the sacred temple of Love, all gates of 
mystery had been swung wide to her. Nay, as she bent 
over the cradle of the infant Moss, it became evident to 
his acute vision, that at some time she must so have bent 
over a cradle whose occupant was bone of her bone and 
flesh of her flesh. Out of her eyes had gone mother- 
beams; her lips had curved to mother-smiles; her hands 
bad the true and unmistakable mother-touch. 

“ Ho ! Ho ! ” mused the doctor. “Ho — ho — ho — strange ! 
A strange thing ! Don’t understand it. It — ain’t — all- 
right!” 

With this view of things impressed upon his mind, it 
was no wonder that he entered the Moss kitchen one 
morning, a -week later, with a grave brow. 

Mrs. Moss was busy washing the breakfast dishes. Re- 
becca was nowhere to be seen. Waiting a few moments 
for her to appear of herself, he finally asked : 

“Where is Rebecca?” 

“Up stairs, I guess. Shall I call her.?” 

“Yes,” said the doctor, with profound gravity. “You 
like her, don’t you ? You think she’s a good woman ? ” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Moss, with emphasis. “ She’s 
an angel. You just ask Mr. Moss ; he’ll tell you. And 
she’s the best nurse I ever saw.” 


A woman’s secret. 


38 


“ Good to the children,” the doctor suggested, rather 
than asked. 

“ Why, they love her better’n they do me, I really 
believe. And you know children ain’t fools about who’s 
good to ’em.” 

“ No, no,” said the doctor, still very grave ; “ children 
are good judges of human nature ; good judges.” 

By this time Rebecca made her appearance, lookmg 
rather sad and troubled. In truth, the question of what 
was to be her next step in life, had weighed heavily upon 
her mind, for the past few days. She had learned to be 
amused by the doctor’s quaint ways, however, and she 
had confidence in the kindness. of his heart, when he was 
not too inquisitive, and the sight of him unconsciously 
reassured her. Even his unusual gravity did not so much 
alarm her as it might have, had she known all it imported ; 
and she shook hands with him, and sat down to her sewing, 
a dress for Belindy, in a quite unconscious way. 

“ H’m ! ” commenced the doctor, drawing his chair a 
hitch nearer to her. “ I want to ask you a few questions. 
You said you were looking for employment?” 

“ Yes, sir,” — quite steadily. 

“ What are you willing to do ? ” 

“ Anything, sir, that is honorable and remunerative.” 

“ I see you are not so particular as some that have less 
right to be. Unless — H’m ! Are you a married woman ?” 

A quick flush passed over Rebecca’s face. 

“ No, sir,” she replied, in a tone so low and so unsteady 
that the doctor’s heart trembled a little, for sympath}. 
But he had a higher motive than curiosity now, and was 
not to be baffled by a bit of womanly weakness. He paused 
a moment. 

“A widow, perhaps?” 

Rebecca looked up at him with a dumb, helpless look in 
her eyes. He knew what it meant. It was a moment of 


34 


A woman’s secret. 


moral weakness. Should she tell him the truth or no? Or 
would he relent and withdraw his question? The doctoi* 
was inexorable. He was pushing her sorely. He knew 
it, and she knew that he kilew it. He thought that he 
held the advantage, and he meant to wield it. 

What men call woman’s wit, is not wit at all, but, in 
ninety-nine cases out of one hundred, merely the instinct 
of self-preservation. She holds the best and purest gifts 
entrusted to the race. By the very nature of her consti- 
tution, she has no physical strength wherewith to defend 
them ; but she has something more potent, the direct gift 
of God, for her defense. The doe, you know, is safe from 
the hunter’s dog while the fawn follows her. 

“A widow, perhaps?” said the doctor. 

‘^No, sir,” said Rebecca, in a firm tone, and yet dropping 
her eyes. 

The doctor was instantly convinced of three things : 
That this was no woman of easy virtue ; that she knew 
something which he never would find out by asking ques- 
tions ; and that she held her word dearer to her than any 
mere temporary convenience. The doctor whistled quietly 
to himself. 

“ Well, well,” he said, “it is none of my business. You 
can nurse sick folks; and — I don’t — think^you’ll steal — 
the spoons. I guess you’d better come home with me.” 

Rebecca grew suddenly pale. 

“ No, sir,” she said, “ I do not think I can do that.” 

“Why not?” asked the doctor, simply. 

“ Because — ^because,” she replied, “ I do not think it is — 
quite the proper place for me.” 

The effort was apparent, but a little pricking of- con- 
science misled the doctor. His face grew a shade graver 
as he said, 

“ Eh ! Oh ! Somebody’s been telling you that I’m a 
bachelor. Well, / don’t want your services. If I did, 


A woman’s secret. 


S5 


you would be very wrong in refusing them ; but I do7i^t. 
I have a married sister, Mrs. Darrell. She has two chil- 
dren — just coming down with scarlet fever. Will you go 
and help her take care of them?” 

“ Very willingly,” replied Rebecca. “ Shall I get ready 
at once?” 

‘‘As soon as you please. You needn’t ride home with 
me, if it don’t suit you. I’ll send Joel down for you, in 
an hour. Joel’s my man. You needn’t be afraid of Joel.” 
The doctor’s eyes twinkled with suppressed humor, as he 
buttoned up his old gray overcoat, and prepared to leave. 
“ You needn’t — be — afraid — of — Joel,” he repeated, as he 
shut the door after him. 

“ It is my opinion,” said Mrs. Moss to her husband, that 
evening, after Rebecca’s departure, “that the doctor is 
getting a notion after Miss March.” 

“ Oh ! ” rejoined Moses, “the doctor always has an eye 
for a good-looking woman. It is a wonder to me that he 
never married; though, if he got a hankerin’ after a woman, 
he wouldn’t think o’ doing anything about it before year 
after next.” 

“ Don’t you believe that about the doctor,” said Mrs. 
Moss, positively. “ He knows how to strike when the 
iron’s hot, as well as the next man. If Miss March can 
make out a straight story about herself, and is agreeable, 
I shouldn’t wonder if she was Mrs. Dr. Gaines before the 
year’s out. When the doctor has once made up his mind, 
he’s wonderful prompt.” 

“Well, he might be about getting married,” said Moses. 
“At any rate, she’d make a good wife for him,” and so the 
subject dropped. 


86 


A woman’s becret. 


IV. 

ABOUT MONEY-LENDING. 

Ralph Darrell sat in his counting-room. It was a little, 
dark, dingy place, at the back of his warehouse, with 
windows looking out upon the great mills owned by 
Darrell & Co. Industrious sj^iders had woven their webs 
across the panes, and what had been golden motes, infil- 
trating the summer sunshine, lay dead and lifeless now — 
mere dust, upon the ledges. Yet, the place to its occupant 
never was unseemly; and, indeed, it had a certain order 
of its own. The desks and chairs were all squarely 
placed. It was swept every morning by a man, who, of 
course, was never troubled by the reflection that the 
broom might possibly be usurping an office which properly 
belonged to the scrubbing brush. The great, unpolished 
stove gave out a cheery warmth, and the papers lying 
about were all placed in a manner that was full of signifi- 
cance to their owner’s eyes. 

Ralph Darrell liked the place ; it was his home. At 
the other end of the town stood a handsome mansion, 
with his name upon the door plate. His servants rolled 
the walks, and shaved the lawn, and kept the shrubbery 
in order. His money had built, his taste had furnished 
the house in the main, though his wife had, no doubt, 
added a thousand little decorating touches. That same 
wife of his — once Laura Gaines — he held chiefest among 
his earthly possessions. He was prouder of her than of 
houses, or lands, or stocks, or even of those great mills 
yonder, which were the outgrowths of his indomitable 
will, ambition and perseverance — his children, so to 
speak, born of his heart and his brain, and nearer akin to 


A woman’s secret. 


37 


him than the four fine boys and girls in the house yonder, 
who called him father, and reproduced, whether he would 
or not, the buoyancy and lightheartedness of his own 
youth. He was proud of them, also ; fond of them, in a 
certain way. He would have told you that he was spend- 
ing all his days, and almost nights, in that dim place for 
their sakes; believed it, too, himself; but I think his good 
angel sighed over the hallucination, and credited most of 
his self-sacrifice merely to his love for those children of 
stone out yonder. 

So this, after all, was Ralph Darrell’s home. Here he 
was most truly himself, felt most at his ease, at best com- 
mand of all the faculties upon which he most prided 
himself. If I sketch him for you sitting in his arm chair, 
with a Market Report in his hand, and a pen over his ear, 
the portrait will be characteristic. You- will like him; 
everybody did like Ralph Darrell. He was handsome, to 
begin with; of medium height, with broad shoulders, a 
fair, open physiognomy, the nose a little too retroussi for 
perfect beauty; but imparting a piquant, wide-awake look, 
far more in consonance with his character of a first rate 
business man. His eyes were large and very dark — well 
set in his head; his hair thick, black and curling; and 
his complexion, clear and healthful. If he were a trifle 
dyspeptic in his habit, it was because of excessive brain 
labor, not from any constitutional taint or weakness. In 
manner, Mr. Darrell was prompt, alert, yet suave, always 
making friends, always obliging them, yet never losing 
money by them. 

As he sat there, reading the Market Report, with a quiet 
gleam of satisfaction in his eye, a gentleman entered — 
quite a different sort of person. 

Abraham Gladstone was a taller, larger, in every way 
a more powerfully built man. He was of the Saxon type, 
strong, but fair; with clear, gray eyes, and features 


38 


A woman’s secret. 


which, without being regularly handsome, were still 
impressive. His manner was simple but dignified, with 
possibly a trace of the air which a man carries when he 
is conscious of a discrepancy between his worth and his 
market value. If he had this air now, however, it was 
not habitual, but simply the effect of coming in contact 
with a man of Ralph Darrell’s stamp, and that under 
circumstances which secretly stung his pride more than 
he would openly have allowed. 

“Good morning, Gladstone,” exclaimed Mr. Darrell, 
cordially. “I’m glad to see you; happy to congratulate 
you upon the fine plea you made yesterday. I didn’t 
hear it — was too busy; but I heard of it, which was 
better. Everybody praises it. A good start you’ve 
made. It’s all right with you now. You’ve only to hold 
fast in the faith, and you’ll outstrip us all.” 

Gladstone’s face lighted up with a quiet smile — a smile 
of deep content, which yet did not quite relieve his fea- 
tures of their uneasy shade. 

“Yes,” he said, “I was fortunate in winning that case. 
It has made me feel secure in my profession, which I 
scarcely did before.” 

“Oh ! but you might have,” said Darrell, kindly. “We 
all knew that you would not fail; but this case must have 
brought you substantial tokens of success.” 

“Yes, the fees were liberal, and what is better, I shall 
perhaps gain some practice from it. But the subject of 
fees brings me to my present business with you.” 

Mr. Darrell’s face assumed the bland air of a man who 
expects a satisfactory communication; but Mr. Gladstone’s 
manner grew more and more uneasy. 

“The interest upon the mortgage which you hold is due 
to-day, I believe ; yesterday, I had no doubt of my ability 
to meet it ; to-day, however, I find myself compelled to 
test your leniency in the matter.” 


A woman’s secret. 


39 


Mr. Darrell’s manner certainly changed by a shade; 
but he didn’t appear in the least troubled. 

“It’s only a small matter, I believe — a couple of 
hundred dollars, or thereabouts.” 

Mr. Gladstone mentioned the exact sum. 

“I shall pay you one liundred dollars to-day; the other 
I hope to be able to raise during the week. Of course if 
is a very unpleasant necessity.” 

“Oh, nothing of the sort,” said Darrell. “A thing of 
that kind between old friends is not worth mentioning. 
By the way, why don’t you get the money of the doctor. 
I happen to know that he has it by him; though pray 
don’t tell him I said that. Of course I’m always happy 
to oblige a friend, but this confounded business keeps 
me always short. It’s quite different with the old doctor, 
you know. While I have the kindest inclination in the 
world, he has not only the inclination, but the power to 
oblige you.” 

“To tell the truth,” said Mr. Gladstone, “I thought of 
that; but the doctor, if he is your brother-in-law, is suo 
a close man, I hesitated to ask him.” 

Darrell laughed, a frank, rattling kind of laugh. 

“Just such a blunder as people are perpetually fall 
ing into. Now, you, as a lawyer, should have been 
wiser. Take my advice, and go to the doctor at 
once.” 

“ Where am I to find him at this hour, I wonder ? ” half 
soliloquized Gladstone. 

“Oh! on the road, most likely. You’ll know the old 
gray if you see it, I take it.” 

Abraham Gladstone was not a man to ask a favor, and 
be refused, without knowing it, even though he were 
turned off in this clever, joking way. But he knew the 
world, too, quite too well, to grow sour over the affront, 
unless, indeed, it might be in secret. So he started off, 


40 


A woman’s secret. 


down the street, toward the doctor’s office, leaving Darrel 
to mutter : 

“ Now, that’s some freak of his abominable wife. I’d 
rather have a millstone tied about my neck, than such a 
woman. It wouldn’t sink a man half so surely.” 

But the next minute Ralph Darrell was more deeply 
than ever immersed in his market report, with little 
thought of Mr. Gladstone’s, or any other man’s domestic 
millstones. 

The latter was very fortunate in finding the doctor just 
tying the old gray’s halter to the hitching post, in front 
of his office. It was with some perturbation that he 
approached him. It was not an easy thing for Abraham 
Gladstone to ask a favor of any man ; it was still less so, 
to approach in that way this man, whom, all his life, he 
had heard quoted as a model of thrift and close dealing, 
and, moreover, of inquisitiveness. There was a deep, 
deep soreness in Abraham’s heart, which no hand, none 
whatever, might probe. The lightest finger-tip laid upon 
it, never so lightly, it seemed to him, at this moment must 
sting him to madness. 

“ Good morning,” said the doctor, as he deliberately 
took out his saddle-bags and ascended the two or three 
steps which led to his office. 

Abraham returned the salutation, followed him up the 
steps, and in at the door. Fortunately, the office was 
empty. 

Inquiries followed, concerning Mrs. Gladstone’s health. 
She was a patient of the doctor’s. 

“We are tolerably well, thank you,” replied Gladstone, 
with as careless an air as he could afifect. “Well, that is, 
in body. The help I want, just now, is help for the pocket. 
Could you lend me a hundred dollars this morning, doctor?” 

“ How ? h’m ! ” said the doctor, twirling his thumbs, 
and looking down at the floor. Then raising his eyes sud- 


A woman's secret. 


41 


denly : “ Did not old Gleason pay you for that fine speech 
yesterday ? He ought to have paid you well ; paid you — 
well — cash down. It was a good speech; I — heard — it.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Gladstone, “he paid me. Still, I 
need the hundred dollars all the same.” 

The doctor looked olf into vacancy, and whistled. 

“ Gleason is an odd man,” said the doctor. “ When I 
was a student, riding around the country with old Dr. 
Skinner” — and thereupon he launched out into a story, 
intended to demonstrate that Gleason was an odd man; 
which point, it is safe to conclude — for the doctor’s stories 
always hit the nail on the head — was abundantly pro red. 

At the close of it, Mr. Gladstone again gently remiaded 
tlie old gentleman of his request. 

“ A hundred dollars ! ” said the doctor ; “ that’s a good 
deal of money. I don’t know why people should expect 
me to have a hundred dollars about me, at any particular 
time they happen to want it. I began life a poor boy ; 
a — poor — boy. What my father left was barely enough 
for his widow and the girls ; I never touched a penny of 
it, not — a — penny. My education cost me a pretty sum. 
I’ve never been anything but a country doctor. I’ve rid- 
den far, always for small fees; often for none at all. My 
expenses have been heavy ; one way or otlier, as heavy as 
any man’s in the town ; and yet people expect me always 
to have a hundred dollars about me, when I am asked 
for it.” 

“ Oh ! if it isn’t convenient,” said Mr. Gladstone, depre- 
catingly, annoyed, as men were apt to be, at the doctor’s 
roundabout ways. 

“ Ididn’t—say--it— wasn’t— convenient,” said the doctor, 
coolly ; “ I didn’t say anything about its not being con- 
venient. It was just so when the railroad was to be 
built. They came to me, and wanted to put me down for . 
a hundred shares. They did not get me on for but fifty. 

B2 


42 


A woman’s secret. 


Then, when they wanted to start the new bank, they came 
to me again, and fairly urged me to take five thousand 
dollars of stock. Five — thousand — dollars, out of an old 
country doctor. They said so much I took it. And it’s 
always so; it’s always so. You want a hundred dollars, 
you say ? ” 

Yes, sir,” said Mr. Gladstone, rightly judging that the 
laconic style would serve him best under the circum- 
stances. 

“ It is about that interest on the mortgage, I suppose ?” 

The doctor had taken out his old morocco pocket-book — 
“ wallet” he called it — and was counting over a roll of 
bills as he spoke. 

“ The same,” said Abraham. 

“ I hoped you’d be able to raise that without borrowing. 
It was a hard blow to you, a — mighty — hard — blow ; and 
I want to live to see you set the matter right again. You’ll 
do it, with patience and good management. I’m sorry 
you’ve got to borrow. Not but what I’m willing to lend. 
I knew your father and your grandfather. He was a 
pretty old man when I began to ride in my sulky; but I 
remember him well. That’s just a hundred, I believe — 
you can count it — guess you’ll find it all right. He was 
a pretty old man, but he was a good man and a just man. 
I shouldn’t have looked for any of his race to do the thing 
your father did. However, that’s all gone by. What you 
have to do is to work hard, and keep out of debt — if — you 
— can.” 

“ Good advice,” said Abraham, with the air of a man 
who is striving to be cheerful in the face of a mortal pain. 
“ Good advice, but not always easy to follow.” 

“No,” said the doctor, with a humorous twinkle in his 
gray eyes. “ Burns has it : 


‘ When awful Beauty summons all her charms, 
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ? ’ 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


43 


I suppose, when a man is married, he is n’t always sure of 
himself. Now, is n’t that the case, Abraham ? ” 

“ It may be true of some men,” said Abraham, the forced 
composure of his face unsettling itself in a way that told 
the doctor all that he cared to know. “ Have you a pen 
bandy? I’d like to give you a note for this.” 

“Yes,” said the doctor; “I’ll write the note. I didn’t 
ask you how long you wanted the money.” 

“ I hope to be able to return it next week.” 

“Very well; then, we’ll make it short time, say fifteen 
days. I shouldn’t have used the money in that time, so 
we won’t say anything about interest on' this note. If, at 
the end of that time, you want to renew, why I shall have 
to charge you the legal rate ; but for this note, it’s no 
matter.” 

Abraham attempted to insist that he would accept no 
such favor, but the doctor was firm. He had known 
Abraham’s grandfather, had liked him, and that settled it. 
Furthermore, the doctor had satisfied himself of the reason 
of Abraham’s unfortunate necessity. As the latter, with 
many thanks, bade him good morning and closed the 
door, the old man soliloquized : 

“It’s my opinion she does make him stand up and — 
read — awfiilly^ 

Half a mile out of the town was the old Gladstone 
place. It was a fine estate, and had remained in possession 
of the same family for four generations. For a hundred 
years, therefore, the Gladstones had been honorably 
identified with the local interests of Wyndham. The grand- 
father of Abraham had been a judge of the county court, 
and his father, though following no profession, and spend- 
ing his days as a quiet agriculturalist, had held many offices 
of trust and responsibility, both in town and county. His 
first wife had died childless, a few years after their mar- 
riage. He remained a widower for several years, but, at 


44 


A woman’s secret. 


the age of forty, married again; the lady of his choice 
being a widow, of gentle breeding and amiable disposition. 
She brought with her, to her new home, a son by her first 
marriage, a child of two or three years. Abraham’s birth 
occurred during the first year; so that the two boys grew 
up together so much like brothers, that, until they were 
nearly grown, they scarcely felt that there was any dis- 
tinction between them. But the elder of the two proved 
to have inherited a very difierent character from that of 
his half brother. He had always been an ambitious, head- 
strong child, and had caused his mother many forebodings. 
Manhood, instead of softening and refining him, as she 
had hoped it might, seemed only to develop and intensify 
his violence and selfishness. He was handsome, cultivated, 
with a haughty, imperious manner, which, at a distance, 
was quite imposing; but his moral nature seemed in 
iiopeless subjection to vices. 

At twenty-one, having finished the education which the 
generosity of his step-father had bestowed upon him, ht 
left home to pursue his fortunes. Abraham had chosen 
the profession of his grandfather, was in due time admitted 
to the bar, and soon after married Melissa Bowditch, a 
pretty blonde, of manners unusually quiet and self-pos- 
sessed, and, in the popular estimation, a paragon of virtue, 
the epitome of all the saintly graces. But the little woman 
proved to have her whims, one of which involved a long 
pleasure tour, and a few weeks at a fashionable summer 
resort. During the absence of the young people, old Mr. 
Gladstone was taken ill; not dangerously, but still so 
seriously that his step-son, hearing the state of aifairs, 
came home to attend him. Unexpectedly to all, the old 
gentleman’s illness assumed an alarming form, and before 
Abraham and his wife could reach home he was quite 
beyond help, nearly senseless, indeed. 

After his death, it was found that, during Abraham’s 


A woman’s secret. 


45 


absence, he had made a will, by which his heir was bur- 
thened with a legacy to his half-brother, which, together 
with the unfortunate issue of certain speculations, would 
oblige him to mortgage the estate for by far the greater 
part of its value. There were plenty of friends to advise 
Abraham to contest the will; but the young man had 
sustained a great blow in the death of his then only remain- 
ing parent. To his tender conscience it seemed almost a 
crime that he should have been absent during his father’s 
last days ; a crime but too slightly expiated by the sacrifice 
of the half of his fortune. He had, too, a sense of personal 
honor, both rare and fine, which forbade him utterly to 
regret, much less to strive to undermine, the good fortune 
of his half-brother. These events, it is true, struck a 
gloom over his whole life ; but he, nevertheless, prepared 
at once to close the old house, every room of which was 
dear to him, and remove to a small tenement in the village 
where, unencumbered by the care of his farm, which h* 
had rented to a responsible tenant, he might devote him- 
self rigorously to the duties of his profession. 

All this was sad enough, in itself, but the deeper mis- 
fortune of his life Abraham Gladstone bore in uncomplain- 
ing silence. He was a man to meet trouble bravely, with 
essentially masculine fortitude and strength. Let only his 
home fire burn brightly, grant him but that sanctuary from 
earthly care, that shekinah of heaven’s peace, the shelter 
of a true woman’s love, and he would have faced adversity 
not only boldly but cheerfully, and with joyous courage. 

Those who knew Abraham Gladstone well, felt, though 
they were never told, that he had failed of this blessing. 


46 


A woman’s secret. 


V. 

A WOMAN WHO WAS NOT STRONG-MINDED. 

Mrs. Abraham Gladstone was a small, blonde woman, 
of a not uncommon type. Her features were delicate, 
and not devoid of beauty. Her figure was slight, but not 
angular. It had even a sort of roundness, which, at least 
when she was well made up, gave her some show of per- 
sonal comeliness. I am particular about this point, because 
the least detraction from her muscular and adipose tissues 
would have indicated a nervousness of temperament which 
she did not possess, and the slightest addition thereto 
would have given a strength of fiber also foreign to her 
nature. In mental characteristics she steered equally clear 
of extremes. To creative power she made no pretension, 
but her perceptions were acute, and, in certain small mat- 
ters, she was distinguished by a nice discernment, and a 
patient faculty of imitation, both rare and admirable. 
These gifts indicated her true sphere of endeavor, and, 
with proper moral and affectional balance, she might have 
filled a most useful, if not conspicuous position in the 
world. 

The typical characteristic of all such women is, that 
while they are defective in energy or power to do for 
themselves, they have a certain not very delicate craft, 
united to a most dogged persistency, which compels others, 
out of sheer weariness, to do for them whatever needs 
force, or broad capacity, or will. They will give, in return, 
great largesse of their small wares, and so make good 
wives for strong handed, domineering men. ^ I always 
thought the Savior had a small, blonde woman in his eye. 
when he spoke the parable of the Unjust Judge. 


A woman’s secret. 


47 


To the characteristics of her class, Mrs. Gladstone added 
some purely personal qualities, which will develop them- 
selves hereafter. For the rest, she was the only child of 
a widow, who, during the lifetime of her husband, had 
been able to live in a style bordering on elegance. At his 
death, however, she had found herself much reduced in 
means, and when, shortly after, Abraham Gladstone had 
proposed for the hand of Melissa, it had been regarded, 
by both mother and daughter, as a most fortunate circum- 
stance. Could any prophet have revealed to their gaze 
the events of the next few years, it is quite possible that 
their decision might have been reversed ; though, as eligible 
matches were somewhat scarce in the vicinity, and Melis- 
sa’s attractions not by any means overpowering, it is also 
possible that she would have taken the chances, although, 
no doubt, with vastly diminished self-gratulations. 

As it was, she entered into the contract. After the 
change in affairs, nothing was left to her but to see to it 
that she exacted as much as possible of the original price. 
She had shed a great many tears and been seriously 
threatened with a decline, when the subject of shutting 
up the great house, and removing to the small one in the 
village, had been discussed, but all to no purpose. On 
this point Abraham was inflexible. His entire style of 
living must be changed ; to do it successfully, he must 
commence at the foundation, and renounce, at least for 
the time, all the prestige of the old place and its associa- 
tions, which, dear as they might be and were to liim, 
would yet prove so many taxes upon his income. Besides 
that, he was to become a business man, and he i^st live 
near his business. He could^now aflbrd to keep horse, 
and it was a long walk from his office to the old mansion. 
He had, at first, insisted that Melissa should employ a 
well trained servant, and, indeed, would have much pre- 
ferred that she should do so. But that lady, after a few 


48 


A woman’s secret. 


months trial, herself decided to relinquish the luxury, and 
keep instead a little bound girl, about ten years old, partly 
to make a martyr of herself, in the eyes of her neighbors, 
and partly because she found the difference in cost of 
great aid in her personal expenditm'es. 

The one strong thing in Mrs. Gladstone’s character, was 
her love of dress. This was the Moloch to which every- 
thing else, even the holiest and tenderest emotions of her 
nature, were sacrificed. Yet she never gossiped about 
dress, as some women do ; in fact, she never gossiped in 
a gossiping way about anything. It is true that she knew 
the exact contents of the wardrobe of every woman in town, 
if it were a fact at all worth knowing, and could tell, to a 
farthing, the cost of any separate article ; but a habit of 
silent observation, or still more wary listening, or, as the 
utmost extent of her visible efibrt, the knack of putting 
exactly the right question in exactly the right place, 
accounted for this. 

On the same day when, as we have seen, her husband 
was reduced to so unpleasant a financial strait, Mrs. 
Abraham Gladstone sat in her small sitting-room, in high 
consultation with her dress-maker. A pattern of elegant 
silk lay upon the table, and was evidently the article imder 
discussion. 

“Nothing less than web velvet, the exact shade, will 
do for the trimming,” said Miss Burdick, emphatically. 
“A band around the skirt, now — say half a yard wide — 
would be el-e-gant. It would cost a good deal, though.” 

“ It might be trimmed with lace,” said Mrs. Gladstone. 

“ But the skii-t?” queried Miss Burdick ; “narrow lace is 
not elegant on a skirt.” 

“A lace flounce, then.’ 

Miss Burdick was silent, evidently astonished. 

“ There isn’t a lace flounce in this town,” she said. 

Mrs. Gladstone was not in the least moved by this asser- 


A woman’s secret. 


49 


tion, but rose quietly, went to her upper bureau drawer, 
and took therefrom a small package. Sitting down again, 
she imfolded it, and displayed to the astonished eyes of 
Miss Burdick the very thing in question, a moderately 
wide flounce, of real, unquestionable Brussels lace. 

“Well, Mrs. Gladstone, but you are the beater. Where 
did you get it ? ” 

At this juncture the door opened, and Mrs. Bowditch 
entered. She spied the dress pattern upon the table, and 
exclaimed : 

“What, another new silk dress, Melissa? And how 
handsome! Just your shade of blue, exactly! Where 
did you get it ? Parker hasn’t had such a piece of goods 
as that for six months, I know.” 

“I sent down to New York, by him, for it, just before 
Christmas,” said Mrs. Gladstone, quietly. 

“ And you’ve had it in the house all this time, and never 
told me. What a sly thing you are.” 

Mrs. Bowditch laughed, and looked merry, as if to be a 
sly thing were the greatest distinction upon which one 
could be complimented. 

“ But you hav’n’t seen the wonder of all,” inteiTupted 
Miss Burdick, who was aching to learn by what means 
that lace flounce got into Mrs. Gladstone’s possession. 
“ Look at that ! ” 

Mrs. Bowditch looked — held up her hands — exclaimed: 

“Well, I never! Melissa Bowditch, where did you get 
it?” 

“Just the very words I said,” ejaculated Miss Burdick. 
“ There ain’t another woman in towm would have thought 
of such a thing.” 

“You’re mistaken there,” said Mrs. Gladstone, quietly. 
“ The idea isn’t original with me. I happened to know, 
though it was a great secret, that Mrs. Ellery bought this 
floimce the last time she went to New York, before the 
C 


50 


A woman’s secret. 


Judge died. Of course, when she went into mourning, 
she couldn’t Ayear it, and as she says^'' with an emphasis 
that, from any other lips than the sweetly serene ones of 
Mrs. Gladstone, Avould have been spiteful, “that she 
never intends to resume colors again, of course she was 
willing to sell it, and at quite a bargain.” 

“What did you have to pay her?” asked Miss Burdick. 

“ A hundred dollars.” 

“ A hundred dollars !” exclaimed Mrs. Bowditch. “Why, 
Melissa, how did you get the money out of Abraham ? ” 

“ It is a good deal to pay, to be sure, but then, it is re^il 
Brussels, and will last a lifetime. On the whole, I think 
it an excellent bargain, and so, I am sure, Avill Mr. Glad- 
stone, when he sees it.” 

“ Oh ! then he don’t know about it,” said Miss Burdick, 
who was, to use a characteristic expression of her own, 
“ on pins and needles.” 

“Mr. Gladstone has too much business to attend to, 
now-a-days, to be interested in the minutiae of my shop- 
ping. He generally makes me an allowance for household 
purposes, out of which I must manage to clothe myself. 
In our present straitened circumstances, I have, of course, 
to be, as a general thing, very economical. But he has 
made a good deal out of the Gleason case, and very natu- 
rally felt like making me some little present. Mr. Gladstone 
appreciates my trials.” 

“Well, I must say,” said Miss Burdick, “ I do think you 
have got the kindest husband in this town. I don’t believe 
there’s another man in it would have humored his wife so.” 

Mrs. Gladstone did not look in the least elated, but, on 
the contrary, rather resigned ; as if Miss Burdick was far 
from comprehending the real state of the case — as indeed 
she was — and she, Mrs. Gladstone, was too uncomplaining 
a martyr to enlighten her. 

Miss Burdick made an appointment for a day of next 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


61 


week, and then took her leave, to electrify the gossips of 
the town with the information that Mrs. Gladstone had a 
new silk awaiting her scissors, which was to be trimmed 
with a real Brussels flounce. 

“Well,” said one, “I suppose she feels as if she ought 
to keep up her position in society as well as she can. It 
must be hard for her to give up so many things she used 
to be accustomed to ; but, I must say, she bears it very 
quietly. She seems quite resigned.” 

“I’m glad to hear you say so,” said another, “for I 
really never could make out much about her. When she 
was Melissa Bowditch, she never was like other girls, 
frank and outspoken, you know; yet, if I ever suspected 
her, as I sometimes did, of being the slyest, craftiest jade 
that ever lived, the very next time I saw her she was 
sure to be so sweet, so serene, so, as you say, ‘resigned,’ 
that I was ready to put myself to torture for having 
judged her so harshly. I always did think, I’m sure I 
don’t know why, that she married Gladstone for his 
money, and when it came out that he had lost his fortune, 
I expected she’d be terribly cut up; but if she was, she 
has kept it mightily to herself. The only line she ever 
gives one to measure her afliictions with, is the length ol 
her submissive face.” 

There was a laugh, but nobody dissented from this 
certainly not very flattering estimate. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Bowditch was diving more deeply into 
the mystery of the lace flounce. 

“Melissa,” she said, “you must have about worried 
Abraham to death before he gave you that money. How 
did you get it out of him ?” 

“I don’t know that I’ve worried him particularly. He 
knows very well that if I am to go into society at all, I 
must have clothes to wear, and I fancy he don’t care to 
see me make a recluse of myself.” 


52 


A woman’s secret. 


“Oh!” said the mother, new light breaking at once 
into her mind. “That’s why you didn’t go to Mrs. 
Smith’s party last winter, nor Mrs. Darrell’s, nor to church 
for the last month. Well, I declare, Mellie, you are a 
schemer. It takes you to turn that man around your little 
finger. How many times a day have you reminded him 
of that money, for the last three months; on the average, 
I mean?” 

“As nearly as I can judge,” said Mrs. Gladstone, oh! 
so very quietly, “about three. I’ve had to work rather 
harder than I ever did before, but Fve got Uy 

“ I’d like to see the thing you wouldn’t get, if you set 
your heart on it. I wonder if you could manage all men 
as you do him. I’m inclined to think some of them would 
tell you to hold your tongue.” 

“ Very well. Talking is not my forte. I prefer silence.” 

Mrs. Bowditch understood this perfectly. T'he memory 
still remained to her of times in Melissa’s maiden days, 
when she had been refused a new bonnet or a darling 
pocket handkerchief, and had made the house redolent of 
injured innocence for days thereafter. Therefore, fearful 
of wounding th-e dear creature’s sensibilities, she pursued 
the subject no further, but turned to a more edifying one. 

“ Where is dear little Echo ? ” she asked. Echo was a 
pet poodle. If there was anything in life which Mrs. 
Gladstone loved, and about which she sentimentalized, it 
was Echo. It could not have been his beauty which 
made him so dear, for he was decidedly ugly, even for a 
poodle; it could not have been his meek disposition, for 
he snapped and snarled at everybody, except his doting 
mistress, and even she was not always sure of his favor. 
I think the truth was this. The woman had, would have, 
no children. She had often assured Mr. Gladstone that 
children were too expensive a luxury to be indulged in by 
people in their circumstances. Her family physician had 


A woman’s secret. 


53 




being, 


even his grave suspicions that her hands were not guiltless 
of innocent blood; for be it known to you, O unenlight- 
ened reader, that thousands of delicate American females^^ 
who would shriek if a fly were crushed in their presencej\ 
have no such compunctions where their own offspring are 
concerned, but, if they can do it without publicity, will, 
unrelentingly slay them in cold blood. Of these women j 
Mrs. Gladstone was one; a quiet, delicate, saintly niur - J 
deress. 

And yet, so tender and so true is nature, in spite of all 
her seeming cruelties and contradictions, that this woman, 
too selfish to be a mother, too little tender toward her 
own flesh to shrink from its destruction, still felt maternal 
longings. It was fitting that such a woman, surely not 
worthy to become the mother of an immortal 
should take to her unmaternal bosom — a dog. 

And so Echo became a pet. 

Let us not be too severe. Mrs. Gladstone’s heart was 
full of kindness toward her darling, mistaken kindness 
though it were. Quite unconsciously to herself, she bore 
many of the anxieties, and something of the labors of a 
real mother. She washed and curled her Echo every 
morning. She prepared his food with the utmost care. 
She kept continual watch over him, lest he should be 
misused by other dogs, or led astray by malicious village 
children. If the night were cold, she arose at its coldest 
hour to put more covering on his bed. If he were ill, 
she iidministered medicine, and watched over him with 
tender solicitude. In so far as she shared a mother’s 
sacred labors, let us hope she gained, in her own bosom 
at least, a mother’s rewards; since it is surely better to 


be tender and solicitous for a dog, than never to be tender 
and solicitous at all. But, oh ! ye loving, happy mothers, 
pity even while you condemn a love so low, so misdirected. 
Mrs. Bowditch, who sympathized in her daughter’s 


54 


A woman’s secret. 


aversion to children, sympathized, also, in her fondness 
for Echo. In answer to her inquiry, he was duly produced. 

“The dear little creature, how sweet he looks,” she 
exclaimed. 

In answer to which compliment, accompanied by a pat 
on the head. Echo snapped and snarled most viciously. 

“Poor Echo! he don’t know who it is he’s barking at. 
He thinks it’s a naughty boy going to take him away from 
his mistress, don’t he?” which was the convenient fiction 
by which his caprices were excused. But his continued 
ill conduct exhausted even Mrs. Bowditch’s grandmoth- 
erly fondness at last, and she gave him a little pat on the 
head, which was not intended as a love pat, whereupon 
Echo ran yelping to his mistress’s arms. Mrs. Gladstone 
was austerely silent, but the cloud upon her brow darkened 
the sunshine in that room during all the remainder of her 
mother’s visit. 

Matters having thus taken an inauspicious turn, Mrs. 
Bowditch fell back from the pitch of momentary enthu- 
siasm produced by the lace fiounce to her ordinary tone 
of complaining and fault-finding. 

An old woman! What more desolate phrase, if one 
has the picture of a creature like Mrs. Bowditch before 
one’s eyes. Wrinkled, dried, ugly, the bloom and fresh- 
ness of youth all gone, and no trace of rich and mellow 
maturity left behind ; the eye faded and sunken, with no 
inner light to retrieve its lost glory; the lip pale and 
dewless, with no rare smiling curve to win, at last, one’s 
admiration and love. The wifely tenderness all stilled 
from those aged pulses, and the sweet, late enthusiasm of 
age not there to take its place; the maternal fountains 
shrunk and perished, and no universal motherhood aglow 
in the soul, to make the whole form and countenance 
luminous with love. An old man, who has left behind 
him the strength and passion of his youth, is pitiable; but 


A woman’s secret. 


to liiin has never come the unspeakable tenderness and 
beauty of a woman’s life; to him could never come the 
serene, immortal halo which should be hers fn old age 
Therefore, of all death-iu-life is none so ghastly, so deso 
late as a loveless, unlovely old woman. 

In the cool damp of the spring twilight, Abraham Glad- 
stone walked out to the old place. It had been a hard 
day with him, and he felt a longing for the sweet, though 
mournful associations of the spot. The necessity of over- 
looking some repairs going on at the time, gave him a 
pretense, and, while the redness of day still lingered in 
the western sky, he entered the familiar gates. 

A fine avenue, shaded by a thick growth of evergreens, 
led up to the house, which was built in the style of fifty 
years ago; a broad, square structure, with carved friezes 
and pillared portico. Here and there modern devices spoke 
of renovation ; a bay window at one side, a balcony over 
the wing door, and, at the opposite side, a long piazza, with 
trellised vines ; but the general effect w^as ancient, and not 
modern. A groiq) of noble elms surrounding it, gave it an 
added dignity; and, with all its seams and scars, and marks 
of age, concealed by the softly luminous dusk, it seemed as 
fair a spot as the fancy could wish to dwell upon. The 
grounds about it had been arranged with evident taste. 
There was a well kept lawn, of wide extent, upon which 
noble trees stood, singly or in groups. Far to the right a 
dark clump of evergreens offered seclusion to the senti- 
mentally inclined, while, at the left, ran a pretty brook, 
spanned by a rustic bridge, overhung by wdllows, and 
losing itself at last in an artificial fish-pond, upon w^hich, 
in former times, a tiny boat had floated. Beyond stretched 
the rolling meadows, and softly undulating fields, and 
heavy woodlands, which made up the estate. 

Every rood of this ground was dear to Abraham Glad- 
stone’s heart; with each some reminiscence of his youtl; 


56 


A woman’s secret. 


was associated. As liis feet pressed the familiar sod, his 
heart was thrilled with the pride of ownership. It would 
be the work of many a year, he felt, to clear off the heavy 
mortgage which encumbered it; and which, till then, must 
keep its unrelenting, death-like hold upon — not these 
acres, but his very life. But he felt a man’s strength and 
endurance in his frame, a steady, indomitable will, a resist- 
less energy in his brain, to do, and dare, and suffer to the 
utmost for the thing he held dearest in his life — these 
paternal acres, this home, which had once been his mother’ s. 

Ah ! that was it. The struggle of man with man, for 
bread, wears out enthusiasm and inspiration very fast. 
Coming out of his office that night, Abraham had felt 
very poor, very purposeless, very worthless. His stej) 
had halted, his head had drooped, the languor of weari- 
ness and discouragement had pervaded every fiber. There 
was no inspiration in his home. It was folly to think of 
rest and recreation there. He had long ago ceased to 
dream of finding what his soul needed in wedded life ; 
long ago proved that men cannot gather grapes of thorns, 
or figs of thistles ; but, on his solitary way, that evening,v 
he had dreamed of a baby face pressed close to his, ot 
soft, pink fingers, twined in his hair, of a breath sweet as 
June roses warming his face. His heart had ached, as 
childless, desolate men’s hearts often do ache, for the' 
winsome ways and innocent caresses of infancy. It was 
a dream, sacred, because so far from being realized ; 
he would have owned it to no man. The tears whi^flT 
sprang unbidden to his eyes, he brushed hastily away, as 
if he were ashamed of them ; but none the less his heart 
was weighed down with unutterable sadness and desola- 
tion. 

But here, on this familiar lawn, an angel met him — 
breathed inspiration, courage, love, which is life, into his 
veins. No angel was it of the upper heavens, the incon- 


A woman’s secret. 


57 


ceivable, unapproachable depths of Being; but the spirit 
of a woman, earth-born, the dear, touching, trembling 
memory of his mother; she who had been his refuge in 
every childish trouble, his strength in every youthful dis- 
couragement, the inspire!* of all noble ambition, the pride 
of his eyes, the delight of his heart; so tender, so patient, 
so forgiving, so never-failing in love and faith. The stars 
looked down upon him with her soft eyes ; the dusk was 
brightened by her beaming smile ; the night breeze whis - 
pered with her tender tones. His eye grew brighter as 
he went about his work, his step more elastic ; he had 
kept a tryst with love. His spirit was gladdened, the 
cares of the day were exorcised, and he went home 
another man from him who had walked that way an hour 
before, silent and sorrowing. 

“I’m glad Abraham feels so cheerful to-night,” said 
Mrs. Gladstone to her mother, as the latter was getting 
ready to go home. “ It isn’t pleasant to have a man so 
glum about the house, as he often is. Nobody knows 
what I endure with him, at times. I thought, perhaps” — 

“Was it about the money? Oh! men always do make 
a fuss about money; but, then, they get over it. Your 
father always did. I can tell you, I had my troubles in 
my time, as well as others. But you, with your tact for 
management, ought never to complain. I really think 
you’ve got Abraham into excellent subjection; and, depend 
upon it, my daughter, it’s all they’re fit for — men.” 


58 


A woman’s secret. 


VI; 

j^USlNESS TS. LOVE MAKING. 

1 suppose there was not, in all Wyndham, a woman 
more envied than Mrs. Ralph Darrell. She had the finest 
house in town, built since her marriage, to meet exactly her 
tastes and her desires. It was surrounded by fine grounds ; 
it was elegantly furnished. She kept her carriage, and her 
wardrobe, if she chose, might fairly outrival that of the 
wife of the member of Congress, which was glory enough, 
in that line. Her children were fine looking, healthy, 
promising; her husband handsome, agreeable, indulgent. 
He was proud of her; he would even have loved her, if 
he had time. As it was, he was putting ofiT that luxury 
till he should have amassed a fortune ; not that he would 
have admitted, now, that he did not love her. Quite the 
contrary; it was only that during his courtship he had 
found the constant studying, and remembering, and cater- 
ing to a woman’s tastes, however delightful in itself, a 
heavy draft upon the time and energies of a businessman. 
Of course it must be done then; but now, with his wife 
secured, and all done for her that money could do, he 
could no longer afford himself or her that luxury. He 
•cherished a dream — without ever mentioning it, for Amer- 
ican business men are not given to talking sentiment — of 
a time when he should have fully gratified his ambition, 
and should have leisure to enjoy the society of his wife. 
I even think that this dream was at times the secret spring 
and inspiration of his best efforts in that direction. His 
mistake lay in that he forgot that opportunities come but 
once; that life never stands still, and that, while he was 
neglecting to keep at one with his wife, heart-beat for 


A WOxMAN’S secret. 


59 


heart-beat, life-stroke for life-stroke, waiting for that more 
convenient season, they were walking apart, and growing 
apart. He lived alone in his business, and she lived alone 
in her home. And that was Mrs. Ralph Darrell’s skeleton. 

But, apart from this, a cloud was settling over the house. 
She came down from her nursery to the breakfast table 
with a troubled brow. 

Ralph,” she said, “ I think you had better stop at the 
doctor’s on your way down town, and tell him to come up. 
Baby seems quite sick, and Mabel complains of a sore 
throat. I am afraid they are going to have scarlet fever.” 

“I guess you are a little nervous,” he said, abstractedly. 
“ They seemed well enough last night; however. I’ll notify 
the doctor if you wish, and I don’t forget it. The safe 
way is to tell John, and let him stop as he comes back 
from driving me down town. I’m in a great hurry.” 

Mrs. Darrell was not nervous in the sense in which her 
husband used the word; but she was deeply troubled. 
The scarlet fever was rife in the neighborhood, and with 
the experienced eye of a mother who had carried two 
children safely through it, she felt certain that her babes 
were already attacked with the dreadful disease, and one 
at least severely. She was a woman of strong mind and 
good courage; but when her children were threatened she 
had a woman’s trembling, apprehensive heart, and longed 
for, needed a word of steady, masculine encouragement 
and sympathy. It was for this reason that she had spoken . 
to her husband, instead of sending a servant at once for 
the doctor. She had asked for bread and received a 
stone, and she was not the woman to ask twice. 

So John went for the doctor; and he, when he came, 
confirmed her worst apprehensions. At dinner, therefore, 
she said again: 

“The children have the scarlet fever, Ralph. Will you 
come up and see them?” 


60 


A woman’s secket. 


Mr. Darrell looked at his watch. I’ve hardly time now, 
Laura ; to-night will do as well. Don’t be nervous, dear ; 
the other children got through safely, and with your good 
nursing and the doctor’s excellent care, I’ve no fears; and 
you must not have. I’m rather unusually busy just now, 
and if it promises to be a long siege you must hunt up 
somebody to help you. I don’t believe Annie is very 
capable, and I’d just discharge her and get somebody else. 
Do anything you like, only don’t bother me.” 

So the burden that was already heavy enough, was 
doubled when he threw his own share upon her also. 
Laura turned away with dry eyes, but a sinking heart. 

But the doctor knew a woman’s wants better. “Laura,” 
he said, “how are you going to get along? Annie isn’t 
much to depend upon, and you will need good help before 
you get through.” 

“Ido not know,” she said, absently. “Girls are very 
scarce now; they all go into the mills. I don’t know 
where I could find one that would do better than Annie. 
If I knew of any experienced nurse I should be glad to 
hire her, but there does not seem to he anybody.” 

“H’m! h’m!” said the doctor, whistling and meditating. 

“I know of a woman I think I could get for you. She’s 
a good nurse, and I’m inclined to think not a bad woman. 
That’s about all I do know about her; but if I were in 
your place I should rather risk her than Annie. Can’t — 
tell — what — she — may — turn — out — to be, but you might 
try her.” 

“Very well,” said Mrs. Darrell, “if you think I had bet- 
ter send for her, I will do so.” 

“Perhaps I’d better see her myself first,” said the 
doctor, cautiously. “If I can get her. I’ll send her up to 
you before night.” 

The success of his mission the reader already knows. 

The room into which Rebecca was shown when she 


A woman’s secret. 


61 


arrived at Mrs. Darrell’s was the library. It was a small, 
eosey apartment, furnished in green, the walls fitted with 
book shelves, with fine busts over the doors and windows. 
The only picture in the room was a life-size portrait of 
Mrs. Darrell, hanging over the mantel. 

It was several minutes before that lady made her 
appearance, and Rebecca spent the time in studying the 
noble and beautiful face, which she instantly divined was 
that of the mistress of the mansion. The brow was 
broad and smooth, not too prominent in either the upper 
or lower portion; the softly waving hair, dark and glossy, 
was coiled in heavy masses at the back of the head, while 
a single curl fell on either shoulder; the features were 
regular, and the whole organization of a breadth and 
fullness which indicated that rare union, — a cool, wise 
head, a strong, true heart. But it was upon the eyes that 
Rebecca lingered longest; a soft, clear gray in color, there 
was still a light in them which seemed to shine out from 
deep, interior worlds, where lay resolved the elements of 
infinite things. They were eyes that saw nothing in a 
friv^olous or superficial way; but which looked easily and 
naturally to the heart and core of mysteries. Eyes of 
untold knowledge, of untold power, yet shining with a 
ray so softly human, so tenderly winning, that they com- 
pelled less your reverence and admiration than your 
sympathy and love. The accessories were, as they should 
be, very simple ; a plain, white dress, fastened at the 
throat with a garnet pin; nothing to detract from the 
simple power and purity of the lovely face, which was, 
among common faces, as the queen of roses among way- 
side weeds. 

Rebecca had scarcely finished her analysis of it, had 
not at all ceased wondering if it were possible for a living 
woman to be the peer of it in beauty and strength, when 
the door opened and Mrs. Darrell entered; the exact 


62 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


counterpart of her portrait, except that for the white 
dress was substituted a printed cashmere wrapper, of 
which the ground tone was a soft shade of green. 

Mrs. Darrell had expected to meet an ordinary servant 
girl ; if foreign, possibly neat and womanly in her appear- 
ance ; but, if American, most certainly coarse and rude ; 
for none but the lower classes of American women are 
now to be found in the ranks of domestic servants. In- 
stead of this she saw before her a slight, but well formed 
young woman, of medium height, with possibly an added 
inch. Her features were delicate ; her hair and eyes, 
exactly matched in color, were of a rich, reddish brown, 
as rare as it is lovely, and which is never found except 
with a skin of that peculiar softness and transparency 
which can only be likened to a rose-tinted pearl shell. 
Her dress was plain, but perfectly neat and lady-like ; and, 
but for a strange, indescribable expression of countenance, 
which dimly reminded one of delicate vines with dewy 
blossoms and clinging tendrils, torn, and drenched, and 
shattered in a thunder gust; of bright-winged, song-loving 
birds of the tropics, afloat on stormy seas, drowned in the 
acrid saltness of the spray, and tossed from wave to wave, 
the picture of cruel desolation and hopeless, helpless ruin; 
but for this sad, unfathomable look, she might have been 
the most refined and lovable of Mrs. Darrell’s elegant 
neighbors, dropped in to pay a morning call. 

A little of the surprise which that lady felt was visible 
ujion her countenance. 

“ Is this Rebecca March ? ” she said, as if fearing a 
mistake. 

“ Yes, madam.” 

“You are, then, I understand, seeking employment as a 
nurse girl? ” 

“Doctor Gaines informed me that you needed the 
services of such a person,” was the somewhat evasive 


A WOxMAN’s secret. 63 

reply, “ and was kind enough to give me the prefer- 
ence.” 

“ Are you accustomed to going out to service ? ” 

Rebecca meant to be very calm, very stoical; the flush 
which mounted to her face was quite involuntary, but it 
made Mrs. Darrell regret her question, and resolve to be 
more careful in the future. ^ 

“ I have not always been a servant,” she said, “ but 
circumstances have thrown me upon my own resources, 
and I am quite willing to accept any employment which 
will give me a home and the necessaries of life. I hope 
to be able to please you.” 

“Are you accustomed to the care of children — sick 
children ? ” 

“ Not very much,” was the reply; “but that is something 
which a woman ought to learn easily. I am fond of chil- 
dren, madam.” 

“ That is certainly a great deal in your favor. You can 
wash and dress them, I suppose; and exercise a gentle, 
and at the same time firm, restraint over them.” 

“ I hope to give you satisfaction in these respects.” 

“ My brother has perhaps told you that I have two 
children sick with scarlet fever. The youngest, my little 
Ralph, has always been a delicate child. All through the 
winter he has been a constant care, and the disease is 
already developing itself in so violent a form that I have 
very grave apprehensions. Mabel is less severely attacked, 
and I hope, with sufiicient care and good nursing, may get 
through safely ; but for this, I shall be obliged to trust in 
a great measure to you, for Ralph occupies almost every 
minute of my time. It is a serious responsibility for any 
one to undertake ; but if I find in you all that your appear- 
ance leads me to hope, there need be no present mention 
of wages between us. Whatever you ask will be cheer- 
fully paid ” 


64 


A woman’s secret. 


“ I shall do my best to serve you,” said Rebecca, quietly, 
but with a manner that signified more than her words. 
“ As for wages, whatever you have been in the habit of 
paying will be quite satisfactory to me.” 

“ Mrs. Darrell then led the way to the nursery, where 
Rebecca, having divested herself of her outer garments, 
commenced the task of becoming acquainted with her 
work. 

In a large, neatly furnished, and ordinarily well lighted, 
but now darkened room, the little sufierers lay; Mabel on 
the low bed, Ralph in his little crib. There were bottles, 
and spoons, and cups about, and the necessary appliances 
for bathing ; but, with all, there was no untidiness or dis- 
order. A door, opening into an adjoining room, furnished 
a sure supply of fresh air, and the stillness was only broken 
by the low moans of the restless, sufiering babes. The 
other two children, Rebecca learned, were Maude, a girl 
of twelve, and Evelyn, six years old. These, for the 
present, would be veiy little in the nursery, and Rebecca’s 
principal charge would be to sit by Mabel, attend to her 
wants, administer medicine, and be in readiness, always, 
to assist Mrs. Darrell in the care of Ralph. Mrs. Darrell 
had a horror of strangers in her nursery, besides being 
scrupulous about scattering the infection, and proposed 
that, as long as they could endure it, they should sleep on 
alternate nights. It proved, indeed, that she was too 
true a mother to leave her sufiering child at all, so long 
as nature could hold out; but caught, now and then, a 
snatch of sleep, to make further endurance just possible. 

“ I am quite alone,” she said, “ and shall be obliged to 
depend altogether upon you ; for my sister Joanna, always 
an invalid, and most unfit, by want of experience, for the 
care of sick children, has now a little pet of her own, by 
adoption, and the doctor is fearful of infection. Mother 
would otherwise come in occasionally, though she is too 


A woman’s secret. 


65 


old for the active labors of the sick-room. As it is, I 
shall not send for them, except in case of emergency. 
The neighbors are all kind, but we will do by ourselves as 
long as we can.” 

Rebecca had a loyal heart, and she was by this time so 
charmed with this nature before her, at once so tender 
and so strong, that she hailed the compact with joy. It 
seemed to her, lacking naturally in courage and daring, so 
brave and noble a thing to do, to meet and engage, single 
handed, the grim destroyer. She accepted her part of the 
labor with such quiet zeal and fidelity, that Mrs. Darrell 
was at once inspired with confidence and trust, and before 
the day closed was thanking heaven for sending this 
unlooked for bounty, this woman, who was at once a trusty 
assistant and a sympathizing friend. 

The doctor came in frequently, and, in a quiet way, made 
many observations. If he had been foiled in finding out 
what this woman had been, he was in a fair way to deter- 
mine what she was. But things worked very smoothly, 
and the doctor found himself imperceptibly losing interest 
in his self-imposed espionage, as the character of Rebecca 
developed, day by day before his eyes, into a quiet, unob- 
trusive symmetry and beauty. 


C2 


66 


A woman’s secret. 


VII. 

“they twain shall be one flesh.” 

Mr. Darrell visited the nursery regularly three times a 
day, speaking gently to the little sufferers, making sugges- 
tions for their comfort, awarding a word or two of sym- 
pathy and encouragement to his wife, and then he was off 
to his business again. In the evening he had the papers 
to read, and when night came he was fatigued and in 
want of rest. 

“Get all the help you need,” he said to his wife, “but 
don’t ask me to sit up. I am not fitted for it; it isn’t my 
business.” 

At noon of the third day he came to her with rather 
more than his usual anxiety. 

“How are the children to-day?” he asked. 

Mabel seemed no worse ; her case was hopeful, and she 
told him so. 

“ But the baby, oh ! Ralph,” she said, “ the baby is very 
sick.” 

“That child has always been so much more care than 
the others,” he said, “ that I think you worry about him 
unnecessarily. He doesn’t seem to me so much worse 
than Mabel. He even seems quieter, not in so much 
distress.” 

She was silent; his eye and hand were so untrained to 
sicknessj how could she make him understand that what 
he saw was the feebleness of nature, which could make 
no moan. 

“I wanted to go to Hew York to-night,” he said. “It 
is very necessary to my business. Indeed, not to go 
would derange my plans for the whole season. I shall go 


A woman’s secret. 


67 


down to-night and back to-morrow night, so tliat I should 
be gone barely thirty-six hours. Of course, if you insist 
on my staying, I shall do so ; but it will be a serious 
disadvantage to me.” 

Laura’s eyes — those eyes with infinite meanings in them 
— were looking into vacancy. 

‘‘ Oh, Ralph ! ” she said, “ can I go through with this 
alone ?” 

“It is only a day, love, and the fever has not yet reached 
its crisis.” 

A weaker woman, a woman less unselfish, would have 
clung to him, and with tears and entreaties, would have 
made his going impossible. I do not say that she would 
have been wrong ; but this I know, it was out of grander 
deeps than such women can conceive, or than most men 
can appreciate truly, that Laura’s reply came. 

“ Go, if you must, my husband. Whatever comes, with 
God’s help I can bear it.” 

He left her, and Laura went back to the cradle of her 
sick babe. The fevered flesh, the glassy eye, the painful 
breathing, all appealed to her as they had never done 
before. The doctor came in a few minutes later. 

“Milton,” she said, after she had told him of her 
husband’s intention, “Milton, can’t you persuade him not 
to go.” 

“Laura,” said the doctor, “if he can look in your face 
and go, it isn’t likely that anything I could say would 
stop him.” 

Stirring business men like Mr. Darrell sometimes failed 
of respect for the doctor, and he felt it. Let them but have 
a cramp, or a twinge of rheumatism, and he straightway 
had his revenge. But in this case, all the more because 
he was Laura Darrell’s brother, he was slow to interfere. 

So Mr. Darrell went to New York. 

When he had kissed her good bye, and bidden her be 


68 


A woman’s secret. 


of good courage, for he would be back again very soon, 
Mrs. Darrell went to her nursery. The babe stirred from 
his heavy lethargy and put up his little hands from the 
crib imploringly. Tears, bitter and blinding, started 
from Laura’s eyes, as she held her darling to her breast 
and felt the fever in his veins, the agonized throbbing in 
his brain, and the restless working of his limbs in mute 
distress. 

Outside, the night was gathering dark and rainy. 
It seemed to Laura as if the clouds that shut out the 
stars, shut out heaven beside; as if that still, dark room, 
with its suffering occupants, had somehow drifted out of 
its rightful place in the universe of God, and was no 
longer cared for by Him. Part of this feeling of desola- 
tion and neglect was no doubt owing to the undue tension 
of her nervous system. The physical organization of 
woman is the most finely wrought and delicately adjusted 
instrument that ever came from the hands of its Maker. 
In its sensitiveness to pain or pleasure, its susceptibility, 
its infinite range of pure, delicate and spiritual uses, it is 
something so far removed from the coarser adaptations of 
masculine beings, that no man living can fully comprehend 
or sympathize with it. From the moment the girl becomes 
a woman, and still more, when the woman becomes a 
mother, she enters upon a range of experiences which are 
her sole and indefeasible possession. In every other 
experience, but those which belong solely to her womanly 
nature, her lover may follow her step by step, and their 
intercourse may be that of equals and co-workers; but 
here such equality and fellowship cease. Henceforth 
the male takes the secondary position. 

He lays at her feet a few material elements ; to these 
she adds the spiritualizing force, and creates out of billets 
of timber and blocks of stone that higher and vastly 
different thing— a home. With the product of a single 


A woman’s secret. 


69 


heart-throb, she peoples that home with immortal beings. 
Even then her work is but commenced. Through all the 
weary weeks and months of infancy, with their days of 
labor and corroding anxiety, their nights of ceaseless 
vigil and prayer, it is still she who must suffer, endure, 
and out of her own life nourish that new life on which, 
not to her only, but to the universe at large, all things 
depend. She is gifted thus with a creative faculty almost 
divine, and she has a self-sustaining power, too, almost 
divine. Almost, not quite. The rude physical strength 
which must go to her support, or else she fail, is stored in 
the larger frame and stronger muscles of man. It is his 
duty to transmute them, by smiles and caresses, and a 
constant, tender, endearing encouragement, into liber of 
her fiber, life of her life. So only can she truly succeed 
in her great mission; so only people the world with new 
and ever finer races, and at the same time retain for her- 
self and for man the graces and harmonies of her being. 

This material succor was the food for which Laura 
Darrell was famishing. Refused those necessary supplies, 
she had no recourse but that of the pelican; she must 
tear the flesh from her own breast, rob her own life of its 
light, its warmth, its spiritual uplifting, to succor the 
failing life of her child. 

So it was, that her own heavens gi’ew dark, while she 
made a heaven of warmth, and tenderness, and love 
about her babe. Alas ! alas ! to how little purpose it 
seemed to her. 

All night she held him in her arms, while the faithful 
Rebecca knelt at her feet and handed her in their turn 
the various appliances. Not for an instant did either of 
them relax their efforts, or when efforts ceased to avail, 
their watching ; but steadily through the seemingly inter- 
minable watches of the night the little flame burned lower 
and lower in its socket. 


70 


A woman’s secret. 


The morning came, and with it the anxious doctor. 

“Can he live?” murmured the stricken mother, the 
agony of renunciation quivering in her voice. 

“Laura,” said the doctor, looking away from her face 
lest he should see her pain, “ it isn’t best to look for life 
when death is the only thing to pray for. The child’s 
brain is spoilt.” 

Did no echo of this doom break upon the father’s ear 
as he trod the pavements of Wall street? Or was his 
spiritual sense so dull that the voiceless intimations of 
the air could not reach it? He achieved a skillful opera- 
tion that day, by which, as he reckoned, he gained a 
decided advantage over his rivals in trade. Let us con- 
gratulate him upon it. 

All through that long sunny day, the two faithful 
watchers strove, not to save now, only to comfort and 
shield from unnecessary pain the beloved sulferer. As 
the evening drew near, it was plain that the crisis 
approached. The heavens still shut down dark and 
appalling over Laura’s heart, but into their gloomy 
obscurity she launched that constant prayer : 

“If he only can live till his father comes. Oh! God, 
how can I bear this stroke alone ! ” 

The night closed down, the world grew still, the infinite 
depths of heaven revealed the stars. Still the mother sat 
in the low nursery chair, which she had not left since her 
husband’s step died out of the hall below. 

“ Rebecca,” she said, “ I cannot bear this any longer, 
my heart will break. Let me lay him in your lap. Oh ! 
God of heaven, must my strength fail me at the last ! ” 

There were no tears in her eyes ; only a heavy, hopeless 
sorrow, too deep for tears. At that moment her mother 
entered the room; a calm, majestic woman, of a rarer 
beauty than any youth bestows. 

“My daughter,” she said, “a woman’s strength can 


A woman’s secret. 71 

never fail, because it is of the Highest. No other crea 
ture has the hold on heaven that a mother has. 

“But He has forsaken me,” moaned the anguish-stricken 
wife. 

“ Never ^ my child. If He has taken away every other 
support, it is that you may draw the more deeply from 
Him. ‘ Though he slay me, yet will I trust Him.’” 

The house was still ; the last inmate had retired to rest, 
but scarcely yet to sleep, when the heavenly gate opened. 
A light that was not of earth streamed across the baby 
face, the blue eyes opened in a maze of unearthly wonder 
and joy, and then closed again forever. 

The world that hitherto had seemed reeling about her, 
steadied itself underneath the poor mother’s feet. She 
could not yet see her Father’s face, she could not hear his 
voice, but through the chaotic darkness she felt his arm. 

Herself, she brought the baby robes and helped to put 
them on. Herself smoothed the sunny hair, each thread 
of it more dear to her than gold of Ophir. Herself 
straightened the rounded, dimpled limbs. When all was 
done, and the room put into that order which women love 
so well, the elder mother took the Bible, and read in a 
calm though tremulous tone, first the touching story of 
David’s bereavement, and then the tender, trustful strains 
of the twenty-third psalm : “ The Lord is my shepherd, 

I shall not want ; * * * yea, though I walk through 

the valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil ; 
for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort 
me.” 

The moment Laura had dreaded came at last. There 
was no evading it, no putting it off for any other duty. 
The day was done, the night had come. Her bed awaited 
her. 

Oh ! lonely bed ; oh ! couch of bitter desolation and 
reproach. No babe, no husband. Where should her 


72 


A woman’s secret. 


head repose, where should she lay her empty, yearning 
arms. Her frame was weary to exhaustion, but here was 
no rest. Her spirit fainted for succor, but here was no 
wine of consolation. In her agony, she threw her arms 
about her faithful friend, and begged her not to leave her. 
Sleep there was none for her, but the comfort of speech 
she might have if Rebecca would sit by her bedside. 

They watched the long night through, the lonely mother 
going by herself again and again to visit the little casket, 
to see, as she said, in her wandering, half-demented 
speech, that the dear child wanted nothing — oh! mad- 
ness known only to mothers, the madness of care, and 
tenderness and solicitude that will not be appeased, when 
the tenderness of heaven has replaced its own — and 
coming back again to recount to her patient listener all 
the bitter-sweet reminiscences of the beloved babyhood, 
which crowded her brain with such yearning and regret. 

After the daylight broke, a drowsiness seized her brain, 
and for a few moments she slumbered. Then she arose, 
dressed herself carefully, and prepared to meet her hus- 
band. 

Of his dismay and heartfelt agony it boots not now to 
tell. The after story will test the quality of his grief. He 
lavished money upon the funeral rites. There was a 
little white coffin with silver nails and plate of burnished 
brightness ; there were flowers in profusion, and a robe of 
daintiest texture and device. He consoled himself also 
with saying that his presence after all could have made 
no difference with the result ; the sorrow must have 
come just as certainly and surely. He dwelt upon his 
grief in not seeing that dear face once again in life, and 
thought his penalty was greater than he could bear. But 
the loss he could least afford to suffer was one which he 
scarcely measured at all — the loss of an opportunity to 
bind his wife’s heart to him, by what would have been a 


A woman’s secret. 


78 


dearer tie than even the birth of that only boy. And the 
loss was irretrievable. She had felt a want which it was 
his place to fill, and he had not been there to fill it. She 
had gone through an experience which, if he had shared 
it, would have linked their souls together by a bond which 
should have been indissoluble through all eternity; but in 
those deep throes of expectation and despair he had had 
no portion. 

In God’s great universe of love there is no loss. One 
of His houseless, homeless ones gathered up the spilled 
contents of this most precious alabaster box, and not a 
drop was wasted. The woman who had wrestled through 
the watches of that awful night with Laura Darrell, was 
thereafter no stranger, no servant in any ignoble sense, 
but an equal, a friend, a never-to-be-forgotten benefactor. 


D 


74 


A woman’s secret. 


VIII. 

SOME IDEAS CONCERNING “a WOMAN’s SPHERE.” 

It was in this spirit that Mrs. Darrell approached Re 
becca, in regard to her future course. The latter was 
sitting in the nursery, sewing, and at the same time 
endeavoring to cheer, with an original fairy story, the lone- 
liness of little Mabel, who was still confined to the house. 
If Rebecca had a talent at all, it was this one of amusing 
children. Her store of stories never failed ; and whether 
they were inventions of her own, or retailed at second- 
hand, the manner was always original, and so suited to 
the tastes and circumstances of her listeners, that each 
felt that a personal favor was granted, or a personal appli 
cation intended. 

Mrs. Darrell, sitting in an easy chair by the window, 
looking out with the apparent listlessness, but real pre- 
occupation, which so often characterizes the manner of 
deeply bereaved persons, felt at last the magnetism of this 
steady fiow of chatter, and interrupted her own thought 
1,0 listen. 

“Rebecca,” she said at length, “why don’t you write 
stories, and sell them? You might make your fortune.” 

“No, madam,” said Rebecca, “my stories would never 
bear writing out.” 

“Not if you really set yourself about the work with the 
proper amount of determination?” 

Rebecca smiled. “I think, madam, the smallest amount 
of ‘ determination,’ as you say, would put every story out of 
my brain forever. I never think of stories, unless I have 
the listeners about me. The very idea of going away by 
myself to write one out, would imply a failure.” 


A woman’s secret. 


75 


“ Then you are purely an improvisatrice ? I am sorry.” 

“ Thank you, but I am not,” said Reheooa, quietly. 

“ Have you, then, no ambition?” 

“ Very little of that kind. I would rather hold my gift, 
if I have one, for those I love.” 

“Yes, but pardon me, Rebecca, you seem to have your 
living to make.” 

“ And seem, too, just now, do i not, to be making it; at 
least, getting it ? ” 

“ Yes, earning it richly. But I am too truly your friend 
to be quite satisfied with the way you are doing it. Of 
course, Rebecca, if I were selfish, I should want to keep 
you always with me, for you are doing me such service 
as no one ever did before, in the way of household assist- 
ance. But I cannot help thinking you are fitted for some- 
thing so much higher.” 

Rebecca looked up with a grateful smile. 

“And I,” she said, “ have been thinking how much 
better ofl* I am than the maj'ority of women, so perfectly 
dependent as I. My history is not one which I ever refer 
to with pleasure ; but I may, at least, tell you that I have 
no ties, none whatever, outside this town, in Avhich I have 
lived but a few weeks. I have, then, nobody to please but 
myself. Of the few vocations open to women, I have, 
seemingly by accident, fallen into the very one which I 
believe myself most capable of filling. It is womanly ; it 
gives me a good and secure home ; it pays me quite as 
much as the laws and customs of the world allow any but 
the most gifted Avomen to earn. I am more than con- 
tented, I am happy. What more can I ask? ” 

“ But you might teach, and so be making a position for 
yourself, and working for your own advancement.” 

“ I shall never teach,” said Rebecca, firmly but quietly, 
“even if I were fitted for it, Avhich may be doubtful. 
That avocation, as well as the other of sewing, is so 


76 


A woman’s secret. 


crowded now, with those who have not enough pride, or 
else too much vanity, to be found doing anything that is 
not ‘genteel,’ that, for every one who succeeds, some 
other one must fail. Women have enough to struggle 
against in the world, without competing ruinously with 
each other. In my present position, I do not feel that I 
am standing in the place of any one else.” 

“No. Annie, who left me, went into the mills, and 
thinks herself much better off than when she was here.” 

“ While the heat, the dirt, the noise, the coarse associ- 
tions of the mills, are, to say the least, no way congenial 
to me.” 

“But Mr. Darrell is just now wanting an accountant in 
his office. How would that place suit you?” 

“No better, at least for the present. There are women, 
and all honor to them, who feel themselves strong enough 
and pure enough to compete with men for such occupa- 
tions. Just now I am very weary ; I need rest, seclusion, 
a home ; I am willing to give the best I have, the best, 
perhaps, that any woman has, in exchange for it ; that is, 
patient, faithful, loving help. If, on these terms, you are 
willing to keep me, let us say no more about it.” 

“ Shall I say that I still must think it rather a pity that 
you are not more ambitious ? ” 

Rebecca’s face grew a little sad. “Ambition,” she 
said, “ seems to me to have, somehow, gotten to mean 
greed. Mrs. Darrell, I am ambitious; not in the way 
which confounds all uses, and makes the more shining, 
and not the more essential ones, to be coveted. Without 
ever having thought much about it, I feel just this, that it is 
a great pity that women should have so generally adopted 
the masculine form of ambition, which has the luck, now, 
of ruling the world. A woman’s ambition, it seems to 
me, should be, to be womanly.” 

“ I like not that term,” said Laura ; “ it is commonly 


A woman’s secret. 


77 


used to express something raw, immature; simply, I think, 
because of the state of rank unfinish in which woman has 
hitherto been kept.” 

“Very true. But how shall women ever attain the 
perfection of their type, except by constantly and con- 
scientiously asserting its pure characteristics? When I 
see women, in their eagerness to progress — that is the 
word, I believe — simply aping men, I think of the spider 
crab, which, you know, walks backwards. If the best 
that woman can ever be is a weak imitation of man, 
heaven help the race.” 

Mrs. Darrell was listening with deep interest. 

“You said you were ambitious,” she said. “I am still 
waiting for an explanation of your meaning.” 

Rebecca smiled. 

“Perhaps,” she replied, “I have said more than I can 
substantiate. What I meant was simply this: I have my 
living to earn ; that is a necessity, not an ambition. But 
if I could make a thousand dollars a year, by doing some- 
thing which is essentially a man’s business ; by which I 
mean, something which necessitates a rude publicity; traf- 
ficking in a general way ; steady, physical exertion, such as 
is incompatible with the delicacy of the female organism; 
or any business which engages especially the selfish pro- 
pensities^ I would regard it as utterly unfit for me, beneath 
my womanhood, beneath my ambition. On the contrary, 
what I will ever seek for, is an employment which, while 
it does not ignore physical exertion, yet calls principally 
into play the unselfish, emotional, religious, womanly 
feelings. A girl who loves to work in the mills, is not fit 
to have the care of children. That is a field for a true 
woman. I have been very wordy ; have I made myself at 
all understood?” 

“Perfectly, and have, besides, shown me how nature 
draws her line between the sexes; a thing I never clearly 


78 


A woman’s secret. 


saw before. That is why you would not like to be an 
accountant.” 

“The range of intellectual uses is middle-ground, 
common to both sexes; but I do think that sphere which 
I have mentioned as pertaining to woman exclusively, is 
still the higher one. Mrs. Darrell, I think a poet is not so 
noble as a mother.” 

“Shakspeare beside Mrs. Moss?” 

“No; Shakspeare beside Mary of Nazareth, or even 
Mary, the mother of Washington. Any poetling of to- 
day will do to place beside Mrs. Moss, to learn his incom- 
parable littleness.” 

“Well, Rebecca, you are only making it still more 
difficult for me to retain you in my employ. I cannot 
reconcile my conscience to seeing you setting tables and 
dusting furniture, and washing and dressing my children.” 

“You are very kind, Mrs. Darrell; but let me put it in 
another light. You have here commenced and are carry- 
ing on the enterprise of a home, a very vast undertaking. 
It includes the gravest responsibilities concerning your 
husband, yourself, and three living children, to say nothing 
of other persons employed in the house, or occasional 
guests. There is nothing small or unimportant about 
this charge, for every one knows that it is the smallest 
matters about a home, the ordering and dusting of furni- 
ture, the arranging of lights and shades, the opening and 
shutting of doors, which, so far as comfort and homeliness 
go, make up the most momentous aggregate. You justly 
feel that this great enterprise, from its largest to its least 
duty, is the work of your life ; the one sole thing for which 
God made you a woman. But it grows upon you, at last 
it gets beyond you, you are no longer equal to it. God, 
in his Providence, has given me no such charge of my 
own; but he has given me womanly functions all the 
same ; quick perceptions, quiet ways, a love of order and 


A woman’s secret. 


79 


.seeinliness, a love of children and a capacity to amuse 
and instruct them, after a simple fashion of my own, 
personal and incommunicable. What, then, is my duty? 
Shall I ignore these, the highest gifts of my nature, in 
order that I may become a small, feeble parody, a weak 
burlesque upon man ? I think not. Let me rather find 
work, if not my own individually, at least my own func- 
tionally. Let me be a woman still, a helper, if not a 
designer, of woman’s work.” 

“Rebecca, where did you get all these ideas?” 

“I think, madam, they were mostly born in me; came 
with my womanly temperament.” 

“You have a womanly temperament, that is true. I 
think you could never be strong-minded.” 

Rebecca smiled. 

“Perhaps, too, I have told you only part of the truth. 
Though my ideas, as you call them, are inherent in my 
temperament, circumstances also have aided in their 
development. I have been so placed that I have been 
obliged to think of these things, and, without much use 
of logic, I have followed my feelings or instincts, and 
liave thus arrived at my present conclusions.” 

“There is still another objection, which I think of, to 
your present way of living, which I should never present 
to a woman of common or coarse instincts; but you have 
so high and so true an estimate of woman’s duties as a 
wife and mother, that it seems strange to me that you 
have not considered how much you compromise your 
own prospects in that direction, by accepting the position 
of a domestic servant.” 

Sadness and tears filled Rebecca’s eyes. She hesitated 
before replying. 

“If these things entered into my present calculations, 
which they do not,” she said, “I still should scarcely 
change my position on that account. There are, no doubt, 


80 


A woman’s secret. 


a great many men, weak, vain, in the masculine sense 
ambitious, who would shun any woman whom they found 
engaged in nursery duties. Yet, I cannot help thinking 
tliat there are a few men in the world who are capable of 
discernment in these matters ; who see, or could be made 
to see, that, rightly considered, the care and forming of 
immortal souls is a higher employment than any mere 
intellectual labor. It seems to me that one of the crying 
sins of the women of these times, is the indiffereaice with 
which they consign their children, during the very age 
in which they are forming the moral habits of their lives, 
to the care of ignorant, irreligious nurse-girls, often of 
foreign extraction, to whom, from the circumstances of 
their lives, habits of pure thought and strictly virtuous 
action are impossible.” 

“ Oh, that is so true,” interrupted Mrs. Darrell. “ It has 
been my great trouble, that I could not find a nurse-girl who 
would not teach my children to lie, and make them very 
careless about taking things not their own.” 

“Very well, then, it seems to me that a woman with the 
necessary courage — for it does require, in most women, a 
good deal of moral courage to face universal custom in 
such a matter — to undertake these duties in a conscien- 
tious spirit, need not fear but there will be a few men who 
will honor her for it. At any rate, it is only a man capable 
of such feelings that a woman of self-respect and true 
womanly feeling would wish to marry.” 

“That is very true.” And Mrs. Darrell paused to 
ponder over this new view of the matter. For her quick 
eye had recently noticed a growing leniency in the 
doctor’s manner toward Rebecca, which gave to these 
remarks a peculiar interest. There was a transparency 
find want of artifice in Rebecca’s character, which the 
doctor at first had failed to comprehend. Is there a man 
living, I wonder, who can at first glance distinguish purity, 


A woman’s secret. 


81 


if it exists without prudery? This woman was as pure 
ill heart and soul and intention as a lily just bathed in 
dew; and yet there were times when the doctor, looking 
at her with critical eyes, queried with himself whether a 
whiteness so white would shrink from the stain of a 
finger-tip laid upon it. A few trials so delicately put forth, 
that Rebecca was entirely unaware of their significance, 
satisfied him; and then, having found purity joined to 
grace and gentleness and worth, the doctor began to feel 
attracted toward it. Mrs. Darrell, with a woman’s intui- 
tions concerning those she loves, had felt and interpreted 
the change, even while Rebecca, conscious only of a 
genial and grateful warmth in the doctor’s manner, which 
cheered without at all alarming her, was utterly ignorant 
of its true meaning. 

One bright spring day, Rebecca had taken the two little 
girls out into a rough pasture, a half mile from the house, 
to gather wild flowers. The pasture was skirted on its 
upper side by the road, which ran around the hill, while 
below, it grew up into a thicket of white birches, through 
which a winding path led to a brook, along which grew 
cowslips and water-cresses. The path was steep and 
slippery, and the little party, having been down to the 
brook side, were just emerging from the bushes into the 
open field, when Mabel tripped, and Rebecca, springing 
to catch her, stepped upon a stone, and so slipping, caught 
her foot between two birch saplings which grew from one 
root, and one of which Mabel had caught, and pulled 
down by her weight, in her eflbrts to save herself. 

As Mabel regained her footing and released the sapling, 
it sprang back, causing intense pain to Rebecca. The 
strength of both children was quite unequal to the task of 
releasing the foot, and Rebecca, faint and terrified, looked 
about vaguely for succor. 

Just at that moment the old gray horse appeared upon 


82 


A woman’s secret. 


the road, and the children set np a shrill cry to the doctor 
for assistance. Now the doctor had not a particle of that 
external grace which we call gallantry in his composition; 
but he had a kind heart, and what he called a weakness 
for women. He no sooner saw, therefore, that Rebecca 
was in trouble, than he stopped his horse, and, without 
waiting to fasten it, sprang over the fence with the agility 
of a boy, and took the shortest jiath for the bushes. It 
required but an instant to comprehend the situation. The 
doctor’s old jack-knife was evidently not equal to it, but 
he quickly jDroduced a pocket case of surgical instruments, 
from which he drew a weapon of more formidable powers, 
one stroke from Avhich so weakened the sapling that it Avas 
the Avork of an instant to release the foot. 

Rebecca sank upon the ground, unable, for a moment, 
to stand. 

“ It Avas lucky,” said the doctor, “ that I had that case 
Avith me. I don’t often carry it; but I had a surgical 
operation to perform to-day, and kneAV I should need it. 
Evelyn, take this cup, and go doAvn to the brook, and bring 
some Avater. . I always carry a rubber cup in my pocket, 
because I ride far sometimes, and I like to stop at a spring. 
You’ll get over this faintness in a minute, and then I’ll 
take you home in the chaise.” 

While the girls Avere gone, Rebecca’s eye fell on the 
pocket case, AAdiich lay by her side. There was nothing 
singular about it, except that upon the inside of the flap, 
by Avhich it Avas flistened, was a small miniature, done in 
oil ; it Avas certainly an odd place for a miniature to be ; 
but there it was, and Rebecca, looking steadily at it, felt 
the blood rushing back upon her heart and her eyes groAv- 
ing dim. In an instant she had fainted. 

“ Ho, ho ! ” said the doctor, “ Avhat noAv ! Avhat now ! ” 

The girls had not yet returned from the brook, but, 
relieved from fear by the doctor’s presence Avith Rebecca, 


A woman’s secret. 


83 


were coming up through the bushes, with much tumultuou? 
shouting and laughter. The doctor heard it, and disap 
proved. He had a horror of romps. 

he cried, in his solemnest tones, “come here 
Rebecca has fainted.” 

That intelligence, together with the implied reproof, 
sobered them at once, and they hastened to the spot. 
The doctor was cool and practiced, and he soon had 
Rebecca restored to her senses. Her first glance Avas 
towards the pocket-case. The doctor followed her eye. 

“ Oh, ho,” he said, “afraid of cold steel. Steel is very 
harmless — very harmless, indeed, if you keep out of the 
way of it.” 

There Avas something in Rebecca’s eye Avhich the theory 
of cold steel did not solve; and th-e doctor, looking at her 
again, knew it. Her glance was still fixed upon the min- 
iature. To her returning vision, it Avore a different look 
from the one Avhich had so affected her. 

“I fancied,” she said, “a moment ago, that I knew that 
face. I believe I was mistaken.” 

“Yes,” said the doctor, pensively, “ I guess you was. 
I don’t see how you could know it. How do you feel 
now ? ” 

“Very much better. I think I can walk to the chaise.” 

She was still very pale, and though the doctor certainly 
was not so lover-like in his attentions as a youth in his 
twenties might have been, he was, nevertheless, very con- 
siderate. 

“You can’t walk over this rough ground, alone,” he 
said; “you’d better take my arm. We’ll go slow. Chil- 
dren, you go on ahead, and hold the horse. I guess she 
won’t run away. She’s pretty well used to standing, but 
you may as well hold her. How, Rebecca, lean on me as 
heavily as you choose; I can bear your weight.” 

Rebecca did lean on him. She was weaker than he had 


84 


A woman’s secret. 


supposed, and he put his arm about her waist, for her 
further support. Now, there was about the doctor a cer- 
,tain capacity to adapt himself to feminine weakness and 
dependence, which was, perhaps, the secret of half his 
success in his profession. He knew how to take hold of a 
woman so as to inspire the fullest trust, and at the same 
time afford the most perfect relief. It is the true secret 
of masculine protection, and to know it gives a man great 
command over female sensibilities. Rebecca had other 
causes for gratitude to the doctor, but nothing had taken 
so dangerous a hold on her emotions, as this firm support, 
so freely and tenderly, yet so fearlessly given. In that 
moment of weakness and .«elf-distrust, there flowed into 
her heart a sweet sense of what it would be to her, always 
to be so supported, in times of emergency. She banished 
the feeling, instantly, as if it had been sinful, and with the 
very effort strove to regain her independence of motion. 
But that was useless. They had reached the wall, and 
the doctor said, gravely : 

“ Now, give yourself up to me. I’ll put you over safely, 
and then I’ll lift you into the chaise. You will see how 
easy it is.” 

When they were seated in the chaise, the doctor said : 

“You asked me about that picture. Five or six years 
ago, I brought a man out of what he considered a very 
dangerous situation. I suppose it was dangerous — I 
suppose, with some kinds of treatment, he might very 
easily have died. In fact, I reported the case to the 
medical journals, and I think the profession took that 
view of it. He gave me that case of instruments. It is 
a better one than I had ever owned then. I’ve got another 
now as good, but that was the best I had ever seen when 
he gave it to me. He had a friend who was an artist — 
had been with him during that sickness, and who painted 
the portraits of all the family about that time. He took a 


A wojvian’s secket. 


85 


fancy to put that miniature in the inside of the case. I 
don’t think any m6re of it for the picture. I don’t often 
carry it, but I happened to have it with me to-day. The 
man was Richard Gladstone, half-brother to Abraham 
Gladstone, in the village.” 

Rebecca drew along breath when she heard that name, 
and the doctor, who had been watching her keenly, saw 
that she felt relieved. 

“I suppose I was just on the point of fainting when I 
saw the picture,” she said, “ and my imagination distorted 
it. I certainly never heard of the man you mention 
before.” 

The doctor had reasons of his own for saying nothing 
more upon the subject. But it occurred to him that, 
though Gladstone was in South America, Marston, the 
painter, was in New York; and if this woman ever had 
known the former, a few well put questions might elicit 
the fact, and do no harm to anybody. 

“A man wants to know something more about a 
woman,” soliloquized the doctor, “than just what she is 
herself, if he thinks of marrying her. He wants to know 
something about her family and antecedents. Rebecca 
March is a good woman. What her family and antece- 
dents may be, I can’t say.” 

From which it may be inferred that the doctor had 
ideas of marriage. 


86 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


IX. 

HYSTERICS. 

If the life of Mrs. Darrell at this point were the least 
exceptional, it would scarcely be worth narrating here; 
but it is essentially the life of thousands of females in this 
country of irrepressible activity and fierce competition; 
and where the subject is a woman of energy and thought- 
fulness, the results are, in the majority of cases, similar, 
in a greater or less degree, to those hereinafter depicted. 
Therefore, if the gentlemen of this enlightened land feel 
any uneasiness concerning the increasing tendency to 
“ strong-mindedness ” manifested by their wives and 
daughters, let them consider the source to which this 
tendency is to be rightfully attributed, before condemning 
it with too great vehemence. Happy are they if these 
are the worst results of their neglect; for, however it is 
to be lamented, it is nevertheless true, that the unwritten 
records of fallen women offer many most pregnant hints 
in the same direction. 

Ralph Darrell’s grief for the loSs of his son was doubt- 
less keen. For a few weeks, the house seemed still to 
him; he missed the baby’s, cooing voice, the baby’s 
pattering feet; but one unfailing resource abundantly 
sufficed for the occasion. The early bitterness of sorrow 
he felt, but that later stage, wherein alone the sweet, 
spiritual ministry of grief is experienced, he staved oft’ 
by means of a fierce, absorbing struggle with business. 
If the freshness of the morning brought up the tender 
haunting memory, he laid the beautiful ghost at once, by 
the reflection that it was steamer day, and a telegram of 
European news might be awaiting him at the office. If 


A WOMAN’S SECRET. 


87 


at evening the rosy hush of twilight and the whisper of 
sweet winds among the leaves set the secret fountains of 
his heart astir, he grew une'asy, informed his wife that he 
had letters to write, and betook himself again to that dim 
and dusty solitude, whose air was fatal to all sentiment 
and emotion. In two months’ time, his boy’s life was 
something almost as remote and unreal to his present 
existence as if he had lived in the time of the Pharaohs. 

“Laura,” he said, one morning, a frown bending his 
eyebrows, “how did that spot in the carpet come to be 
so much more worn than the rest ? ” 

A pang that was like an arrow shot through Laura’s 
heart, but it was worse than useless to manifest her 
emotion to him. 

“That is where I sat all last winter to rock baby Ralph 
to sleep.” 

To her, tender memories made the spot as sacred as her 
baby’s grave ; to him, it was a mere blotch that damaged 
the carpet by so many dollars and cents. The house was 
full, to her eyes, of little touching mementos of her 
baby’s life, which kept the thought of him constantly near 
her heart; marks and tokens, and visible sign manuals, 
from which her loving eyes and cherishing memory could 
frame a whole history of her darling’s joys and sorrows, 
his gambols and his illnesses, which to her husband were 
mere lifeless, soulless scratches. 

It was this loneliness in her sorrow which seemed to 
be breaking her heart. As the long, bright, spring days 
came on with their lassitude and oppression, she had 
no strength to meet them. Force and energy seemed 
slowly slipping away from her. She had no pain, no 
symptoms of illness, which any physician could lay hold 
of; but her cheek grew pale, her eye lost its light, her lip 
its smiling curve, and weariness and lassitude possessed 
hei* whole frame. 


88 


A woman’s secret. 


“Doctor,” said Mr. Darrell to his brother-in-law, “I 
wish you’d do something for Laura. She seems to need 
tonics. Can’t you fix her up some bitters, or something?” 

“H’m! h’m!” said the doctor, pensively. “She don’t 
need bitters so much as sweets^ 

Mr. Darrell was puzzled. He never did understand the 
doctor. 

“Well, sweets then. I don’t care what it is, so you 
get some life in her eye, some strength into her frame.” 

“Darrell, medicine won’t do anything for your wife. 
She needs a husband.” 

Mr. Darrell’s face flushed, and he looked angry. 

“Bulwer says,” continued the doctor, deliberately, 
“ ‘ the match for beauty is a man, not a money -chest.'* I 
may not have got the words, but that’s the meaning. I’d 
advise you to give less attention to your business for a 
little while, say a few months this summer, and doctor 
your wife yourself. It won’t break you.” 

“Why, that’s preposterous. Nothing ails her, only 
she’s run down a little. She can go to Saratoga, if she 
likes. Very likely the waters would do her good. I’ll 
propose it to her.” 

Mr. Darrell walked away with a vague idea, caught 
from the doctor’s significant “humph,” that the waters 
would not do her any good, and he muttered to himself: 

“ These confounded women doctors. I believe they’d 
make a fool of a female angel. They know which side 
their bread is buttered on.” 

There came a bright June Sabbath evening. The day had 
been one of those perfect, gem-like days, which only June 
and October, of all the year, afford. Not a cloud, not a flaw 
of wind, not a breath of cold or dampness, to break the 
perfect untroubled serenity and repose. Even Mr. Darrell’s 
tightly-strung fibers were relaxed a little; the soft June 
sunshine, the angel-like ministry of the whispering breeze. 


A woman’s secret. 


89 


the smile of nature’s most persuasive eloquence, thrilled 
his heart, and he really had a glimmering of a delight 
which could not be^paid for in coin of the realm. To 
Laura, the softening influences of the day had been partly 
counteracted by the tone and vigor of the morning sermon; 
a sermon from Job, touching with deepest, tenderest pathos, 
the springs of human trouble; yet catching, at last, the 
resonant blare of the golden horn, with which the ancient 
singer rouses the soul to its serenest trust and confidence 
in the Most High. At the close of this sweet, prophetic 
day, which had brought Heaven so near, both to her 
material and spiritual vision, she felt that she could bow 
with patience and hope to the decree of her Heavenly 
Father; she could even, with a little help — just one steady, 
strong uplifting from her husband’s arm, regain her equi- 
poise, accept the burden of her sorrow, and bear it with 
womanly fortitude and heroism. As they walked through 
the shrubbery together, in the twilight, she said to him : 

“ Ralph, how much money are you worth ? ” 

“Oh! I don’t know. Hot half so much as I ought to 
be at my time of life.” 

“-But your business is so well under way now, can’t you 
relax a little in your personal endeavors, and so have more 
time for me ? ” 

“You don’t know anything about it, Laura. If a man 
don’t attend to his business, his business will soon attend 
to him. Six months of careless handling is enough to ruin 
any enterprise.” 

^ “ But you say you do not care for money, and you know 
I do not. If this trade of money-getting proves so hard a 
master, why not give it up altogether? We will go into a 
small house, and keep only one servant, or not any, if you 
like, and then I am sure we might live on what you have 
already made.” 

He smiled, a smile intended to be sarcastic. 

D2 


90 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


“Love in a cottage ! I thought we exploded that huni- 
bug long ago.” 

“Ralph, are you any happier now than you were the 
first year of our marriage, when you kept store and I kept 
house, with very little help from anybody about either?” 

“ Oh, that time is all well enough, to look back upon. 
If I hadn’t any more to think of now, than I had then, I 
should go crazy. Laura, business is the life of my life.” 

“ Dear, you used to say that of me.” 

“ Oh, that was in our courting days. A man can’t 
always be courting.” 

“Why not?” asked Laura, as a desperate push, to get 
at the real state of her husband’s mind. 

“Why not ! ” he repeated, impatiently. “I don’t know, 
unless because a man outgrows it. It takes a young man, 
Laura, for that sort of thing; a man who has the fresh- 
ness of his youth in him. You rub off that in business.” 

“ I liave seen some widowers who managed it very well,” 
said Laura, demurely. 

He made a grimace. 

“Oh ! to win a woman, a man’s got to make a fool of 
himself, I suppose. It wdll do for an occasion ; but, if a 
man has his bread and butter to earn, the sooner he gets 
back into his right senses, the better for him.” 

“ Ralph, it is not your bread and butter that you are 
spending all your energies to earn ; but houses, and lands, 
and mills, and superfluous thousands, to impoverish, more 
probably than to make rich, your own and your children’s 
lives; to make hard, and narrow, and selfish, and shallow, 
Avhat ought to be broad, and deep, and noble, and true. 
When we were first married, you used to enjoy reading as 
much as I. We spent no happier hours together, than 
those at evening, when I served, and you read aloud from 
poem, or story, or magazine. I shall always love ‘Evan- 
geline’ better than all other poems, because I never read 


A WOMAN’S SECRET. 


91 


it but it brings back to me those charming hours when we 
sat side by side, reading it out of one book, your eye 
kindling as my heart throbbed to each tender and ennobling 
sentiment. The other day I read ‘Maud,’ and cried over 
almost every page of it, because I knew you would never 
share the pleasure with me, and so give it two-fold sweet- 
ness.” 

“Well, dear, you see I lose as much as you. I know I 
am giving up a great deal, but, then, it is for your sake, as 
much as anybody’s. By and by, I shall have done with 
business, and then we shall renew the old times.” 

“ Ralph,” said Laura, earnestly, repeating his own words, 
“It takes a man with his youth in him for these things. 
You are killing out all your youthfulness of heart and soul. 
By the time you are fifty, your better nature will be so 
shriveled and starved, that I question if it can ever be 
resuscitated. It is that, more even than my own desola- 
tion, that I protest against.” 

The twilight deepened, and they entered the house. 
Ralph stooped, in the dusk of the hall, and pressed a kiss 
to her lips. He was touched with remorse, but not with 
repentance. 

A week later, he went down to New York on business. 
When he returned, Laura found on her dressing-table a 
case, containing a handsome set of diamonds, with this 
little note : 

“ My Dearest Wife : This is dear little Ralph’s birth- 
day. I thought you would like to know that I did not 
forget it, even in New York. Remember, that to men is 
given a difierent calling from that of women, and never 
cease to love and pray for Your Husband.” 

Laura opened the case, looked at it coldly, and with a 
sigh, and pushed it aside. She took up the note quite 
mechanically, for she liad ceased to expect what her heart 


92 


A woman’s secret. 


still longed for; but, as she read those few simple words, 
tears sulfused her eyes, and she pressed it again and again 
to her lips, in a passion of weeping. The old fountains 
of tenderness were thrilled anew; and all that day there 
went singing through her soul the same sweet flow of 
rapture that made her wedding day the happiest of her life. 

Mr. Darrell saw it, and felt relieved. He had done his 
duty now. The doctor had said she wanted sweets. A 
thousand dollar set of diamonds, and flve lines of sweet 
remembrance, ought to last her — well, a year or so. With 
less compunction than ever, therefore, he went on with 
his buying, and selling, and getting gain; and Laura, let 
down from her temporary exaltation, sank deeper than ever 
into that terrible slough, so well known, and so dreaded by 
physicians, and pining, starving women; that limbo made 
up of despondency, hysteria, nervousness, weary days, 
and sleepless nights, and visions and phantoms of horror, 
that should beset only the maniac and the opium eater. 
In such cases the victim is usually well pelted with epithets, 
“ spleeny,” “lazy,” “hypo-y.” Old wives exclaim, “Let 
her work as we worked; she’ll get rid of her nerves then.” 
The more charitable prescribe change of air and scene — 
something to make her forget her whim. Only the patient 
physician stands by her, the man of knowledge, and 
insight, and sympathy; and seeing the sulfering, and 
feeling its reality, says, with tender, cheerful faith : 

“Let us have patience and good courage. Nature will 
exhaust herself, by and by, with these protests. You will 
be broken, then, and weak in 23hysical strength, the fresh- 
ness and the beauty of your youth clean gone ; but you 
will be, mayhap, stronger in spirit, serener in faith, and 
you will take up the burden of life again, with a deeper 
insight, bought by experience, a nobler courage, anchored 
to a diviner trust. You will have gained heights of spir- 
itual experience, where 7io man ca7i follow you.'"'' 


A woman’s secret. 


So nature ordains her priestesses; so Laura Darrell 
reaped, in time, from this sowing, harvests of incalculable 
value. 

But the ripening of such seed does not come till after 
months, and perhaps years, of torture. The exhausting 
heats of summer came on, and Laura grew thinner, paler, 
more spiritless, till at last her husband could no longer 
ignore her suffering. He had appealed to the doctor 
vainly. A brilliant thought occurred to him. If medicine 
could not reach her case, the evil must be spiritual. He 
would bring in the minister. 

The church in Wyndham happened to be, at that time, 
without a supply. But in an adjoining county lived a 
cousin of Mr. Darrell, a man of eminence in his profession, 
of sound theological views, and every way a man to be 
trusted. To Mr. Linscott he would apply. He sat down, 
therefore, and wrote him a letter, stating that, since the 
death of their little boy, his wife had seemed to be suffering 
in health ; the doctor had been consulted, but could do 
nothing. It was evidently a case of spiritual malady. 
Would Mr. Linscott pay them a visit, merely in a casual 
way, saying nothing about this letter or its contents, and 
see if he could not so argue the matter as to bring Mrs. 
Darrell into a calmer and more resigned frame of mind ? 

Mr. Linscott had not a doubt of his ability to do so; and 
well pleased to be able to render a service to his cousin 
Darrell, he harnessed his shiny black horse into his shiny 
black chaise, and rode over to Wyndham. He was a hand- 
some man, erect, imposing, with clear complexion, ruddy 
cheeks, and coal black eyes and hair. He was not an 
unkindly man ; but his chief characteristic was his firm- 
ness. He had his own ideas, good ideas in the main, 
though possibly narrow, and he stood by them. 

It was after dinner, when Mr. Darrell had returned to 
the office, that he found his first opportunity of opening 


94 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


his mission to Mrs. Darrell. They were sitting in the 
library, Laura looking the exact counterpart of her picture 
over the mantel, in the white robe, pinned with the clus- 
tered garnets, except that she was so pale, so thin, so 
chastened in expression. 

“ Cousin Laura,” said Mr. Linscott, “ it seems to me 
you are not looking quite as well as usual, this summer. 
You have less color, less spirit. I hope your health is not 
suffering ? ” 

“ The summer heat seems to have affected me rather 
more than usual,” she said, instinctively recognizing the 
man’s purpose, and as instinctively shrinking from it. 

“ Can’t the doctor afford you any relief?” 

“ Medicine, so far, does not seem to have benefited me 
very much.” 

“I hope your spiritual state is quite satisfactory. Do 
you find your usual enjoyment in religious exercises?” 

Laura hesitated. This was not the kind of man to 
whom she could reveal the inner sanctuary of her heart ; 
yet all the more, because she knew that she was at present 
more than usually sensitive upon the subject, she felt 
that perhaps she ought to conquer her sensitiveness. She 
replied, not, it must be confessed, in any very confidential 
way: 

“At times, I have.” 

“And not always? I hope there is no shadow of cold- 
ness or distrust between you and your Heavenly Father?” 

“ I believe Job didnotalways enjoy unclouded sunshine. 
I confess that I have sympathized with that worthy more 
than usually, of late.” 

“Your affliction has no doubt been very great, but there 
is strength in heaven for all times of trial, if we but 
make the proper application for it. Christ is able and 
willing to uphold and support us, if we call on him.” 

Laura was silent for a moment. “It seems to me,” she 


A woman’s secret. 


95 


said, at length, “that we get that strength very much in 
the same way that the prophets and apostles of old 
received their inspiration ; that is, through a certain har- 
mony of the physical and spiritual forces. When that 
harmony is disturbed, we are left in darkness ; when it 
prevails, we have the open vision.” 

“The Bible makes no such limitations of God’s power. 
It tells us all things are possible with Him.” 

“Yet experience proves that He works bylaw; and 
that seems to me to be the law in this case. I know that 
my Heavenly Father still lives and still loves me. I trust 
Him still, and at times I gain sweet assurance of His 
presence and blessing ; but, on the whole, I am in a low, 
doubtful, desponding frame of mind, which, it seems to 
me, is more caused by material than spiritual conditions.” 

“Let us investigate that matter a little. When you 
lost your little boy, what was the state of your mind con- 
cerning that dispensation of God’s providence?” 

“ I felt, at first, as I suppose most mothers do, under 
similar circumstances : so heart-broken, so crazed with 
grief, that I hardly knew where to look for help; hardly 
believed that the universe could hold relief for pain so 
poignant. Afterwards, as I got calmer, I felt that mine 
was not an isolated case, and that I must submit humbly 
and resignedly to the will of my Father in heaven. It 
was very hard to do, but God is higher than I, in love, as 
in wisdom. I know and feel it.” 

“ I must think, cousin Laura, that there is still some 
withholding on your part, or the blessing would come. 
God’s promises are never made in vain.” 

“Mr. Linscott, that blessing has come, in such measure 
as I cannot express. In that respect my doubt, and my 
weakness, and my darkness, have not been in vain; for 
upon them my Father has drawn, as in strong relief, the 
lines of His wise and tender purposes. I cannot tell you, 


96 


A woman’s secret. 


I cannot tell any person, the visions of heavenly wisdom I 
have had at times. I know, as I never did before, that 
my Father lives ; that He loves me, and that, in His own 
good time and way. He will bring me out of my present 
darkness ; and that, for this season of sorrow. He will give 
me, nay, is giving me, compensations of priceless value. 
My soul is stronger to-day, to love, to sorrow, to pity, to 
sympathize, than it ever was before. I see more clearly 
the reasons of God’s dealing with me. I can look farther 
into heavenly mysteries ; I can fathom more deeply heavenly 
purposes. Yet, while spiritually I have this solemn and 
serene trust, physically I pine, I languish, I daily die. 
Therefore I am not happy; therefore I cry out, with Job, 

‘ Why is light given to a man, from whom the way is hid ?’ ” 

“Mr. Linscott was silent. “God is dealing with you, 
sister, after a fashion of His own,” he said, at length; “and 
when God speaks, it becomes us to lay our hands upon 
our mouths, and our mouths in the dust.” 

He was obliged to report to Mr. Darrell that cousin 
Laura’s spiritual state seemed hopeful. God was dealing 
mysteriously with her, but there was good evidence that 
He had not forsaken her. “We must trust to time,” he 
said. “ I have often found before now, that the ways of 
God with women were seemingly deeper than with men — 
probably because of their weaker natures.” 

Ralph Darrell knew enough of his wife to feel certain 
that her nature, whatever else it might be, was no weaker 
than his, than Mr. Linscott’s, than that of any average 
man he knew. Therefore, he said to himself: 

“ It’s just because they are so queer and willful. Laura, 
at least, ought to have more good sense ; to behave like 
a reasonable woman.” 

According to the universal showing of men, women are 
not reasonable beings, but creatures of feeling, emotion, 
intuition. This when they ask equality with man; but 


A woman’s secret. 


97 


let them once be pushed to the wall in any of the thou- 
sand struggles which women have constantly to meet as 
women, and if they show any signs of emotional weak- 
ness, it is suddenly remembered against them that they 
are, or ought to be, reasonable creatures. But Ralph 
Darrell was not so cruel as some men. He worked him- 
lelf into a generous mood toward his wife, and magnan- 
’mously forgave Tier. 

fi 


98 


A woman’s secret. 


X. 

AN OLD man’s dream. 

Three months in the quiet air of Wyndham had done 
much for Rebecca. There is scarcely any trouble so 
deep, any state of the mental and spiritual forces so 
disorganized, that steady, genial employment, correct 
habits of living, and the quiet, loving influences of nature, 
will not do much to ameliorate it. If there be added to 
these a reverent and childlike trust in God our Father, 
and a constant recognition of His love, as manifested in 
His Providence, trouble becomes, if not powerless, then 
the minister of high and holy things, for which no price 
that human beings can pay is too exorbitant. 

Gradually, under these combined influences, light was 
coming back to Rebecca’s eye, color to her cheek, 
elasticity to her step, and though she still passed weary 
hours of retrospection, still, as she went about her daily 
tasks, stifled many secret heart-throes, her life, on the 
whole, caught many hues of brightness, and the blessings 
she was constantly bestowing upon others returned in even 
measure to herself. 

Mrs. Darrell’s cook was a middle aged woman, who 
had been for years in the service of the Gladstone family. 
When the great house was shut up, Nancy felt almost as 
much disinherited as Abraham himself. But Mrs. Darrell, 
too well pleased to obtain the services of a faithful and 
capable housekeeper, not to be willing to make a proper 
return for them, had offered Nancy a home in her house, 
and here she had ever since remained. 

Nancy was one of that almost extinct race, a well- 
trained American domestic. She had been the daughter 


A woman’s secret. 


^99 


of a small farmer, whose children, happening to be mostly 
girls instead of boys, had been obliged to earn their own 
living. In the days when factories had not yet become 
synonyms of Paradise, domestic service was the principal 
refuge of girls so situated, and it was then possible to 
find the reliable character and steady good sense for 
which New Englanders are noted, in the young woman 
who offered herself as domestic help. Commencing thus, 
and failing, for some reason best known to herself, of 
marriage, Nancy was still pursuing her avocation, and 
had won for herself the respect of her superiors, and a 
certain position, half-way between that of an ordinary 
servant and the wife of a mechanic or small tradesman. 
With such a person, it was not difficult for Rebecca to 
associate and still maintain her self-respect. Indeed, 
Nancy was too thoroughly respectful in her nature not at 
once to accord to the nursery maid the superior honor 
which she felt to be her due. Therefore, Rebecca’s 
position in the family, though it entailed its constant and 
somewhat wearing duties, and was, after all, essentially 
the place of a servant, had still such advantages of com- 
fort and independence as she could scarcely have found 
elsewhere. 

Mr. and Mrs. Darrell were no more generous than 
thousands of employers would be if they could gain such 
trusty, intelligent service as Rebecca rendered, yet they 
did thoroughly appreciate the blessing they enjoyed, and 
daily acknowledged it. 

“ Laura,” said Mr. Darrell, as he came into the break- 
fast room one morning, and noticed how fresh and neat 
everything looked; how the window curtains were 
adjusted to give just the most agreeable light, and the 
silver on the sideboard was arranged in just the most 
tasteful way, and a glass of fresh flowers on the side-table 
brightened and cheered the room as only flowers can; 


100 


A woman’s secret. 


“ Laura, what a treasure that new gii'l of your’s is. Why, 
she really carries us back to the days when you did your 
own housekeeping, and made the presence of a refined 
woman felt everywhere. Now that you’ve got a good 
girl, do keep her. Wages are no sort of object.” 

“Rebecca is a refined woman,” said Mrs. Darrell. 
“That she ever came to seek service is a great wonder in 
this country. She values self-respect and a few privileges 
more than wages. 

“Very well, then, it is better to put one’s self out a 
little to please her, than let her go. Make her position 
pleasant, as well as her wages satisfactory, for we really 
can’t afford to lose her.” 

It fell out, therefore, that the work was so arranged 
that Rebecca found some spare time in every week for 
reading, or sewing, or walking, or even visiting. Of the 
last she had little to do, beyond an occasional hour with 
Mrs. Moss, or, rarely, a shorter visit to Miss Joanna’s 
nursery. For Miss Joanna, finding how apt Rebecca was 
with children, had invited, and even urged her to drop in 
now and then upon her little charge, and Rebecca, at first, 
with a painful distrust of herself, but with increasing 
confidence as the weeks passed, occasionally accepted the 
invitation. 

The baby’s clothes, when she had come to Wyndham, 
had all been marked with a C. Wherefore, the doctor, 
who had been requested by his sister to name the child, 
called her Catherine. Miss Joanna was greatly pleased, 
but very soon shortened the stately baptismal to Kitty. 
Not so the doctor, who had no liking for the fashion of 
abreviations, and invariably spoke of the child by her full 
name. 

But Kitty was, nevertheless, a great pet with him, as 
with the rest of the family, and was as tenderly watched 
over as a child could be. 


A woman’s secret. 


101 


One bright June arternoon, Rebecca set out to do some 
errands at the village store, and call on Mrs. Moss. Going 
past the plain, old-fashioned house, where the doctor and 
his sister resided, she espied Miss Joanna and little Kitty 
on the lawn, the latter lying in her buggy, while Miss 
Joanna sat beside her knitting an afghan. Joanna Gaines 
was a woman deserving of description. 

She was taller than her sister, thinner and more angular. 
Her features were strongly cast, and, at first view, she 
was always pronounced incomparably less beautiful tlian 
Laura. But her complexion, though pale, was very fine, 
and the faint color that sometimes stained her cheek, was 
of that exquisite rose, seen only with the finest organiza- 
tions, and with them but on rare occasions. Her eyes, 
too, had a soft, peculiar light, not brilliant, or in the least 
alluring, unless one observed closely its coy coming and 
going, and then it was most captivating. A certain dainty 
tenderness of manner, tempered by a shy reserve, was, to 
those who knew her best, an indescribable charm ; while 
the coarser multitude held what of her they could not 
understand in reverent admiration. With so much refined 
feeling, she joined the staunch good sense of her family; 
so that, though circumstances had confirmed her natural 
leaning to habits of seclusion, she had never grown morbid 
or melancholy; and now that a new and most deep and 
pure interest was given her in life, she seemed always to 
have been the most gracefully genial and delicately fasci-' 
nating person you had ever known. 

Some strong instinct arrested Rebecca’s feet, as she 
looked up at the pretty picture of the baby-carriage stand- 
ing in the shadow of a great elm, dappled all over with 
flickering gloom and brightness, and the gentle woman 
sitting beside it, pausing now and then at her work, to 
coo a greeting to the rosy child. 

She stood for a moment with her hand upon her heart. 


102 


A woman’s secret. 


the shadow of a great longing settling upon her features. 
Presently Miss Joanna saw her, and called: 

“Come in, Reba, and see how pretty Kitty looks, in her 
short dresses.” 

Rebecca cleared her face of that sad look, and pressing 
back the tears that were so ready to flow, walked up the 
graveled i)ath, and stooping, kissed the pretty baby. Five 
minutes of nursery chat followed, and then the doctor 
appeared at the doorway of the house. 

“ Good afternoon, Rebecca,” he said, in his grave way, 
ignoring now, as always, the abbreviation of her name, 
which Maude Darrell had made a law to every one but her 
uncle. 

Rebecca returned the salutation, and added a remark 
about the baby. 

“Yes, Catherine thrives very well. Better, I think, 
than she would have done in the city alms-house. Joanna — 
looks — motherly. I think she is getting to look 
motherly.” 

Rebecca smiled, and the faint color trickled up into 
Joanna’s white cheek. 

“ I think,” said the doctor, who loved to have the con- 
versation mostly to himself; “I think a woman should 
always look motherly if she can. I don’t know what 
better a woman can be than a mother, and if she hasn’t 
any children of her own, why, let her be a mother to some- 
body’s else children. Joanna is trying it. I think — she 
— likes — it.” 

“Yes,” said Joanna, demurely, “ I used to have thoughts 
of writing poetry, or going on a mission, or something of 
that sort. I’ve given all that up now.” 

“Humph!” said the doctor; “all things have their 
uses. Literary women have their uses. They make work 
for the doctors, for one thing. They tear their nervous 
systems — all — to — pieces. Never knew one that was 


A woman’s secket. 


103 


healthy, in my life. The}' make their husbands — if they 
have any — miserable; and it’s ten to one if they earn — 
enough — to — pay — their — washerwoman. They’d better 
be tending babies.” 

“ You are not thinking of Mrs. Stow'e and Mrs. Browning 
now,” said Joanna, quietly 

“If women will write good books,” said the doctor, “ I’ve 
no objections. A good workman is never to be despised. 
A poet is as likely to be a woman as a man, for all I know. 
If the poet soul gets into the woman’s brain, why, it’s like 
a flower, it must blossom. Who shall hinder? But, after 
all, it seems to me that women don’t see clearly, when 
they rank the poet before the mother, in use or in honor. 
It is with that as with everything else. They are so many 
dabsters at the trade.” 

“Mrs. Stowe and Mrs. Browning are both mothers,” 
said Rebecca, “ and the latter, at least, has written : ‘ No 
perfect artist ever was developed from an imperfect 
woman.’ And the writings of the other are full of inspir- 
ations which could never have come to any other soul 
than a mother’s.” 

“And they have been, so far as we know, happy wives 
and happy mothers,” said Joanna. “ The proverbial misery 
of literary marriages does not seem to attend them.” 

“ I think,” said Rebecca, “ the great trouble with literary 
Avomen, in regard to marriage, has been, that they have not 
been careful to observe the order of nature, in regard to 
their gifts, but have ranked those of the intellect over 
pui-ely feminine endowments. Nature will not be ignored. 
Women must be content to be women first — after that, 
scribes.” 

While she was speaking, the doctor was looking at her 
from under his bushy eyebrows, with a steady, searching 
glance. As she concluded, he drew on his driving gloves, 
as if about ready to take leave of the group.” 


104 


A woman’s secret. 


“ Rebecca,” he said, eyeing her walking-shoes, “ were 
you going down town ? ” 

“Yes, sir,” she answered, “to the store, and to Mrs. 
Moss’.” 

The doctor whistled, and looked off at the sky, as if 
1)1*0 specting the weather, while the two women concluded 
their chat. Then he asked, with a certain shy gravity, 
which yet overlaid a tender meaning : 

“ I am going that way. Will you ride with me ? ” 

“ With pleasure,” she replied ; “ I shall enjoy a drive 
exceedingly. 

As they walked, side by side, down the graveled path, 
that same shy courtesy in the doctor, that nameless some- 
thing which reminded her of Joanna’s tender fascinations, 
flashed a vision across Rebecca’s mind, of what it might 
be to her to live in this house; to be a sharer in its joys 
and its anxieties; to lean with true respect and fervent 
gratitude upon this strong, well-tried arm. It would 
not be the paradise of a love-lorn maiden’s dream ; but 
might it not be something yet deeper, more restful, more 
satisfying. The vision lasted but a moment; it faded 
before it was scarcely formed. But she sighed, as women 
will sigh whose feet are called to tread in lonely paths. 

Moses Moss’ cottage stood just beyond the town, and 
the doctor chose a by-road to it, that day; a little round- 
about, but lying through the woods, whose dim and 
solemn depths were overflowed, just now, by pink seas of 
blossoming laurel. 

“ I always like to ride through the woods when the laurels 
are in blossom,” said the doctor. “ I don’t mind flowers 
much, generally. I’m not at all sentimental, but there is 
something in the freshness and abundance of the laurels 
which reminds me of my youth. Youth is a man’s spring- 
time ; and, if there is anything of the man about him, he 
is apt, then, to be about as full of promise and anticipation 


A woman’s secret. 


105 


as these laurels are. The laurel blossoms fade away, like 
the promise of most men’s lives, into something very tame 
and commonplace. All the same, I like to see them in 
in their prime.” 

“Yes,” said Rebecca, “and the promise of your life, I 
am sure, has been well redeemed.” 

“ In a measure, perhaps. But the heart knoweth its own 
bitterness. I had a good many dreams in my youth, which 
have never been fulfilled. I don’t complain. I don’t 
complain. Maybe some other lives have been the richer 
for the poverty of mine. If they have, it is all right, and 
I don’t complain. But a man of my years, with so many 
old friends dropping off and no new ties forming, has his 
times of feeling the need of companionship.” There was 
a little pause, during which the doctor whistled pensively. 
“I suppose, Rebecca,” he said, “I seem very old to you?” 

He looked around at her shyly, with an interest in her 
answer which he did not attempt to conceal. 

“Some lives,” she said, “are so full of the best forces, 
energy, skill, and a broad, open charity, that, instead of 
growing old, they seem only to ripen with years. So, 
though I know that you are past the meridian of your life, 
it never seems to me that you are old, but only mature.” 

The answer pleased the doctor; and yet it came so 
frankly, with no timid, girlish blush, no flutter of pleased 
embarrassment at being asked, that he dared not i3resume 
upon it. More and more this woman puzzled and inter- 
ested him. There was a purity about her like that which 
we associate with children ; yet, by that subtile test of 
magnetism which we all possess in a greater or less 
degree, he knew that her experiences had been those of a 
mature woman. At the same time, she was not old — 
twenty-five at the farthest, the doctor thought. She was 
naturally of a fond, loving, trusting nature, yet her dis- 
cretion, her capacity to carry herself with perfect poise 


106 


A woman’s secret. 


and self-possession through the most etiiharfassing cir- 
cumstances, were Wonderful for anything hut a thoroughly 
tried and mature woman. 

There was some further chat between them, mostly of 
a quiet, intimate nature, which made Rebecca feel that 
she had been taken nearer to the doctor’s affectional life 
than strangers were usually permitted to go, and that 
there was an unsuspected fountain of warmth and fullness 
somewhere in his nature, and then they reached Mrs. 
Moss’ door, and parted. 

The doctor drove away in a happy vein, which made 
the sunshine seem more golden, and tinted the landscape 
to his eyes with softer hues. 

There is scarcely anything, I think, more touching than 
an old man’s dream of love. It lacks entirely the brilliant 
hues and strong groupings of thirty years before; but, 
like the landscape of the Indian summer, it has a pure 
and peaceful charm that is all its own. As the old chaise 
rattled over the flinty roads that afternoon, the doctor 
saw no waving fields of corn on either side of him — 
heard no piping thrush in the alder thickets by the way. 
lie was living in a diflerent world. A young man dreams 
of being beloved ; an old man dreams of loving. And so 
the doctor dreamed of making more bright and beautiful 
his ancient home, that a young life might find more fitting 
welcome there; of a thousand tender little devices for 
banishing the grief and sadness from that gentle heart, 
and basked with very Epicurean delight in the thought of 
winning an untroubled glow of sunshine to settle in those 
deep, brown eyes, and ray out each day its joy and 
gratitude for him. 

Just then the old gray stumbled, and recalled by this 
incident to the outer world, he noticed that he was passing 
the deserted Gladstone mansion. The fact changed the 
current of the doctor’s meditations. “Il’m! h’m ! ” he 


A woman’s secret. 


107 


said; “I must see Marston when I go to New York. If 
that man ever knew Rebecca, it is ten to one I can find 
out by him. I must attend to that matter. The girl 
herself is all right — nothing bad about her; but there is 
something wrong about her circumstances. I must find 
out what it is. At my time of life it won’t do to make a 
fool of myself. I can’t go to New York just yet; but I 
must attend to it when I do go.” 

Again and again the doctor had thought this affair over. 
At first, as a mere matter of speculation ; afterwards, with 
a nearer interest. If there was one thing which the 
doctor was more sensitive about than all others, it was 
his good name. The family record was an untarnished 
one. For fifty years he himself had kept it without stain ; 
he had even, he hoped, added something to its original 
luster. At his age he might safely predict that it would 
never be disgraced by his sins; but many a man has 
overturned the goodly structure of a lifetime by a single 
act of weakness or folly committed when his hail* had 
grown white. 

Dr. Gaines had wonderful good sense. He meant to be 
very careful that no momentary weakness should betray 
him into an act which he might repent vainly through 
long, repining years. 


108 


A woman’s secret. 


XL 

THE MAKING . OF MEN. 

The advent of Rebecca in Mrs. Moss’ kitchen was 
always a hilarious event. Seen from afar, her approach 
gave rise to an indiscriminate process of brushing, and 
dusting, and putting to rights. Once seated and divested 
of her outer garments, a vigorous and combined assault 
of all the small fry was made, until she was forced to tell 
them a story, or dress a rag baby, or, at the very least, to 
tie paper shoes on “Diany,” and set that feline worthy 
dancing for their amusement. This last was a feat that 
no one could accomplish but Rebecca ; for no one else 
had that rare talent which is a combination of force and 
flattery, and which alone is equal to the disposition of 
cats. Some one or all of these propitiations being 
rendered, the children were usually dispersed into the 
yard with a piece of gingerbread by way of bribe, and 
then ensued a long confidential talk between Rebecca and 
Mrs. Moss. 

On this particular day, Rebecca had come provided 
with sundry small bits of bright colored cloth and tiny 
tinsel buttons, by means of which she intended to put 
Pamela into gorgeous array. Behold her, therefore, seated 
in the low, straight-backed, chintz covered rocking chair, 
Diana curled comfortably in her lap and purring in long 
meter, and the scissors and needle in her hand, while she 
fashioned a dainty waist of red merino, for the rag effigy 
known as Pamela. * 

“Miss Rebecca,” asked Belinda, the five year old, con- 
fidentially, “don’t you think Diana is a beautiful cat.” 

“Very,” said Rebecca, assuringly, “and she purrs the 
loudest of any cat I ever saw.” 


A AV OMAN’S SECRET. 


109 


“I don’t care,” said Jane, incipient bellehood rearing its 
ambitious crest in her soul, “Fanny Ellery has got a 
splendid tabby, and you know yourself. Miss Rebecca, 
Maude Darrell has got a new Maltese, with double paws. 
Diana is real old fashioned, and I think we ought to have 
a new cat.” 

Then followed a long confidential talk with Rebecca 
concerning the possibilities of inducing Maude to part with 
one of the Maltese cat’s (supposititious) kittens, Avhich 
ended in Rebecca promising, in case the supposed contin- 
gency arose, to use her best endeavors to procure one. 
For which reason Jane felt better able to hold up her 
head for several days thereafter. 

In the midst of this discussion, Theodore burst into the 
room, from the potato field, Avhere he had been hoeing. 

His greeting was a noisy but hearty one. The next 
moment he caught sight of Rebecca’s work. 

“I say, old maid, what are you making there?” he 
exclaimed. “ Jackets for the little tanagers down in the 
alders, I swear ; I’ll go fetch in the young devils, to try 
on their toggery;” and Avith that he was ofi* like a shot to 
the brook, and in spite of exclamations and protestations 
he laid the pretty round nest, with its still unfeathered 
innocents, into Rebecca’s lap. 

Mrs. Moss was greatly distressed. 

“Theodore!” she exclaimed, “how can you? What 
does make you such a cruel, hard-hearted boy?” 

“ Cruel ! that’s a good joke. Why, I brought them in 
for Diany’s supper. Here, old lady, they’re young and 
tender. Let’s hear you crack their bones.” And he held 
the piping younglings over Diana s nose; and only that 
Rebecca asserted her womanly dignity, and gently ordered 
boy and cat and birds out of the house, the sacrifice would 
have been completed before their eyes. 

Poor Mrs. Moss sighed deeply, and turned the whole 


110 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


brood out of doors, with ii command for them not to set 
their feet into the house for the next hour. 

“ Miss Rebecca,” she said, when quiet reigned, “ I do 
wish I knew what to do with that boy. He is the greatest 
trial of my life. ’Taint two weeks ago that his father 
gave him a terrible thrashing, and sent him to bed without 
his supper. The next mornin’ he wasn’t to be found, and 
he staid away two nights. I declare, I thought I should 
go crazy ; but he came back at last, and what do you 
suppose he said? He came in just at the gray of dusk, 
when he knew his father’d be out of the house, and the 
children, too ; and he came along kind o’ quiet by my 
side, and he says, ‘ good evenin’, mother.’ 

“ ‘ Why, Theodore,’ says I, half scar’t to death, ‘where 
have you been ? ’ 

“ ‘ Where I never’d a’ come back from, mother,’ says 
he, ‘ if ’t hadn’t been for you. Did you lie awake last 
night and night before thinking about me ? ’ 

“ Says I, ‘ Theodore, I never slept a blessed winkneither 
night.’ 

Says he, ‘I knew it, mother, and I couldn’t sleep, 
a-thinkin’ of it. But father, he didn’t lie awake none. Oh, 
you needn’t tell me, I know.’ 

“‘Yes he did,” says I; ‘Theodore, yes he did. Your 
father was troubled, too ; but he thought he did his duty, 
when he whipped you; and, Theodore, I don’t know but 
he did.’ 

“‘Mother,’ says he, ‘I often need whippin’; I s’pose I 
do ; I know I often do wrong, and if you’d whip me, I 
wouldn’t say a word, if it was twice as hard; but I never 
will let him whip me again, as long as I live. He can’t do 
it now, unless I choose, for I’m as strong as he is, any 
day, and he never shall again. But, when I’m wicked, 
you just lay your little finger on me, and I’ll stop.’ 

“ But, la ! the boy can’t always stop. He wa’n’t made 


A WOMAN S Sl-ICKIOT. 


Ill 


80.’ He was born in just a year after I was married, and 
in that time I’d had a good deal to contend with. Ye 
see, my father was a farmer, and well enough off, but he 
had a good many children, and so of course the most any 
of us ever got was our bringing up. Still, we had a good 
bringin’ up, and a better education than was common in 
them times, especially for girls. I was just about nineteen 
when Moses came a-courtin’ me. I knew he was poor; 
but, then, he was a good, stout young man, and had red 
cheeks and curly hair, and I didn’t know no harm of him. 
My father and brothers were all steady, industrious folks, 
and made a good living, and I didn’t sort o’ realize but 
what all men was just so. So I married Moses. Well, 
we hadn’t been married a month before I found out he 
would drink. Then, all along, during that year, it came 
out that he wa’n’t no great worker, and if we had children 
I’d got to do the biggest part of bringin’ ’em up. Now, 
it wa’n’t that I didn’t want to work, for I was always will- 
ing that way, but it was the being disappointed in him^ that 
cut me. Then a good many girls, that I’d been brought 
up right alongside of, had done a sight better’n I had, and 
they kind o’ set themselves up over me. I’d always had 
a proud spirit, and carried my head pretty high, and they 
was mighty glad to get a chance to crow over me ; and the 
upshot of it was, that all that summer, before Theodore 
was born, I had spells of feelin’ just as if I could tear things 
all to pieces. I guess Moses had his patience pretty well 
tried with me ; but, then, he is patient, and don’t never 
scold as some men do, even when he’s in liquor. He ain’t 
the worst man there is, on the whole; and I think,’s likely 
as not, is just the right man for me, after all. But you 
see, looking back to them days, I know just exactly what 
it is that makes Theodore the boy he is ; and I can kind o’ 
pity him, and have patience with him, when his father 
can’t see nothing in him but just the very Evil One. 


112 


A woman’s secret. 


“ It ain’t no wonder to me that men don’t understand 
women. They’ve always called them queer and inconsist- 
ent, and always will, till they find out how much there is 
in a woman’s life that they don’t know, and never can. A 
woman knows what’s in a man better than he does him- 
self, for she’s natnrally the mother of men. She knows 
better than anybody else but the Great Maker, what goes 
to the making of a man ; but a woman carries a secret with 
her from the day she is a woman, to the day she dies, 
which no man can wholly understand. So, why shouldn’t 
men find ’em queer? But it is great presumption for them 
to set themselves up over women on that accoimt, for it’s 
just like boasting of their ignorance.” 

“But, you know that men assert that the badge of 
womanhood is the badge of shame and weakness.” 

“ Well, that’s more than they can prove. A woman isn't 
so strong to dig potatoes as a man ; but she’s a great deal 
stronger to bear suffering, to rule her own spirit, and so to 
rule her family. A great deal stronger in faith, and hope, 
and courage, and love ; and which is the better kind of 
strength, I’d like to know. As for the shame of it, when 
you’ll show me a man who is ashamed of having had a 
good mother, then I’ll own that his mother ought to be 
ashamed of having borne him. Otherwise, I do say there 
ain’t anybody in this world that can take higher rank than 
a good mother. And if she’s set apart by nature to that 
office, purified and refined from month to month, and year 
by year, made less strong that she may be less gross, is 
that any disgrace to her? I tell you, it’s just because 
women don’t think enough of these things for themselves, 
but take the low estimate men form of them for gospel, 
and then live down to it, that woman’s calling is no more 
honored in the world. And so women, when they get 
ambitious, try to be men, or as near to it as they can 
come, never thinking that a noble womanhood is some- 


A woman’s secret. 


113 


thing with a great deal more in it than any manhood ? 
That’s what makes me so out of patience with these 
Woman’s Rights folks.” 

“Mrs. Moss, why donotwomen who know and feel these 
things, mothers who through years of suffering and expe- 
rience have learned them to be facts, why don’t they say 
more about them ? ” 

“Well, it is the natm*e of a woman to hide things. I 
wouldn’t say what I’ve said to you, to any man, and 
there’s plenty more like me. God made us so, and I 
suppose He knew what He was about when He did it. 
It’s a woman's secret^ and one which never has been fullv 
told.” 

“But it seems to me that it ought to be told openly, for 
the very good of men themselves, that they may learn 
more deeply to reverence and cherish that which is after 
all the highest gift bestowed upon the race.” 

“ I suppose sometime it will be, when men are fit to 
receive it. It is no use to throw pearls before swine, you 
know. But I tell you there’s many a woman who has lived 
and suffered years and years, having her children, and 
bringing them up with little help from her husband, doing 
the work of two, and making her hair gray before it’s 
time, who never could have lived, if in some silent, dumb 
way, she hadn’t felt all these thingc to be true. It is God’s 
gift to woman to see when man is blind. A.nd if he don’t 
choose to take the light from her, he plods on in the dark, 
while she goes singing in the day, and gets called crazy 
for it, too. Why, there’s plenty of men who don’t know 
any more about the real lives of the women that live in 
their houses, than they know about Timbuctoo. If my 
husband was to hear me talk as I’m talking now, he’d 
think I was stark mad.” 

“ Very possibly,” said Rebecca, “ for I own myself quite 
surprised that a woman who has always had so much work 
E2 


114 


A WOMAJ^ S SECKKT. 


to do as you have, should have found so much time to 
think, or should have gained so much wisdom by think- 
ing.” 

“ I tell you. Miss Rebecca, when a woman is sitting up 
all night by herself, with her sick child, she ain’t never 
alone. I don’t care how humble her home is, there’s visi- 
tors from heaven in it. They comfort and they soothe, 
and they teach such lessons as you don’t find no where’s else. 
You may talk about wise men, and godly men, but I tell 
you that there’s poor, distressed mothers, that has been 
nearer to heaven, and had heaven’s wisdom brought nearer 
to them, than any man ever did. But to come back to my 
boy, Theodore. I’m fully convinced that he’ll come out 
all right, if only his father don’t prove to be the ruin of 
him. He tells him he’ll certainly come to States’ prison, 
or the gallows, and whips him, and scolds him beyond 
reason ; and it does try me so, sometimes, that it seems to 
me I shall give up altogether. But, then, if a mother ever 
gave up, what would the world come to ? He don’t love 
to go to school, and I’m afraid it don’t do him much good 
to go,^and he hates to work out on the farm. I do wish I 
could get him something to do that he would like, for then 
I think he would have some ambition, and begin to show 
out the good that I really think there is in him.” 

“ He is young yet,” said Rebecca, “ and we must have 
patience. In the course of a year or two, I hav’n’t a doubt 
but he will find something to do. It is a hard lime for you, 
just now, I suppose, because he is so large that it costs 
something to keep him, and his father naturally thinks he 
ought to be turning his time to account. He must be made 
to be patient, that is, if that miracle can be wrought. 
Men are not naturally patient, you know.” 

“Yes; and you see his father is bent upon making a 
shoemaker of him, and that he never will be. Didn’t I 
use to hate the sight of that bench, and the sound of the 


A woman’s secret. 


115 


hammer, and the very smell of the wax and the leather, 
after Jane Meredith called me, right in the sewing society, 
before all the folks, a cobbler’s wife! I know that Theo- 
dore would kill himself before he’d ever be a cobbler. But 
his father can’t know it.” 

“ 1 will tell you,” said Rebecca, “ 1 will have a talk with 
Mr. Moss about Theodore.” 

“ I do wish you would; a word from you will be worth 
a whole sermon from me. He needn’t know, of course, 
that I’ve said anything to you.” 

“ Oh ! certainly not. 1 will see him, perhaps this very 
evening, as I go home. I shall be apt to meet him coming 
from the village.” 

It was near sunset, and the children began to come in, 
clamorous for supper. Pamela was already dressed, in 
the most approved style, and it was quite time that Re- 
becca should go home. There was a quiet good-bye with 
Mrs. Moss, and a boisterous farewell with the children, 
and a promise to come again, and then she stepped out 
into the soft, dewy twilight. At the gate, however, she 
met Moses, and remembered her promise. Moses had a 
thorough respect for Rebecca, mingled with gratitude, and 
he always felt that his dwelling had been honored, when 
she liad paid it a visit. After passing a remark or two, 
she said carelessly: 

“ What a fine boy Theodore is growing, Mr. Moss. He is 
as handsome as a picture,” which in truth was no great 
exaggeration, “ and smart, too. You must look out for 
him. If you give him a good chance at business, by and 
by, he will make his fortune. He will be a son for you to 
lean upon in your old age.” 

“Do you think so?” said Moses. “He’s a masterful 
unruly fellow, now.” 

“ Oh ! he has plenty of spirit, I know. That is the very 
reason I say he will never settle down to any sort of hum- 


116 


A woman’s secret. 


driiin life. He’ll push his fortune with a will, one of these 
days.” 

“Maybe,” said Moses. “ I know if I’d had more spirit 
at his age, I might have been something more than a cob- 
bler all my life.” 

Rebecca passed on, and left Moses meditating over the 
gate. That was the last of his trying to make a cobbler 
of Theodore. 

Rebecca Avalked homeward slowly, through the rich 
June dusk, the new moon shining silvery and clear over 
her right shoulder — she playfully marked the omen — and 
stars glinting out in the wide azure fields above. Violets 
and wild honeysuckle made the cool night aii* heavy with 
their sweetness, and from the pine grove, over which the 
moon’s soft sickle hung, night-birds screamed, and the 
distance and the dewy air softened the dissonance of their 
voices to something that was wild and wailing and half 
prophetic. 

“ It is a noble thing to be a woman,” thought Rebecca ; 
“ to be a worker in spiritual rather than material things ; 
to be born to an unselfish rather than a selfish vocation. 
Let the dead past bury its dead. I have still my woman- 
hood. Living true to that, my life may gather yet some 
few stray gleams of sunshine.” 

She looked abroad over the soft landscape drawn in 
shadow and overhung with rosy light, and something of 
its infinite beauty and repose entered into her soul. Some 
dim association brought to her mind a quaint passage 
which she had read in Plato years ago, and she repeated 
it aloud : 

‘“Man’s soul in a former state was winged and soared 
among the gods. And so it comes to pass in this life, 
that when the soul, by the power of music, or poetry, or 
the sight of beauty, hath her remembrance quickened, 
forthwith there is a struggling and a pricking pain as of 


A woman’s secret. 117 

wrings trying to come forth; even as in children teeth- 
ing.’” 

Palpitating echoes in the air caught the murmur and 
Avafted it back to her, and a voice seemed to whisper — 

“Raise thy wings, O spirit! If the material atmos- 
phere returns thy voice to thee, shall not the spiritual 
ether respond also to thine efforts? Have patience — 
wait.” 

The doctor’s conversation recurred to her mind, but 
that brought only painful associations. 

“It is not for me,” she said, “to wrong any good man 
by encouraging him to love me. What I have suffered, I 
have suffered alone. I thank God that no human heart 
has thus far borne a single pang for me. Alone, please 
God, I will suffer to the end, rather than bring the shadow 
of disgrace to any man’s hearthstone. And yet — ” 

Oh ! weary heart, boast not thy strength or thy weak- 
ness. God alone knoweth either the one or the other. 

Coming in sight of the house, she saw Nancy sitting in 
the kitchen porch socially entertaining Lucretia, who had 
run over for a few minutes’ chat. 

“ This delicious twilight brings out the night-birds,” 
thought Rebecca; and then she fell to pitying the forlorn 
and loveless state of these two ancient spinsters. How 
narrow their horizons ! How contracted their sympathies! 
What failures their lives had been in richness, and 
blessing, and inspiration. They had known so little 
suffering. They had gathered so little increase. Welcome 
pain ! welcome reproach ! welcome unrequited weariness, 
rather than this stagnation — this death in life. Mrs. 
Moss, with her shiftless husband and her brood of turbu- 
lent children, was a queen to them. 

As she passed them, she caught a quaint and character- 
istic bit of dialogue. Lucretia had been recounting her 
trials. People in the village, shameless gossips! had 


118 


A woman’s secret. 


been spreading scandalous reports, to the effect that she 
had been trying to inveigle Joel, the doctor’s man, into 
matrimony. It had gone so far that the doctor had 
twitted her of it that very day. She was afraid Nancy 
might have had a hand in it. She had always thought 
Nancy had had an eye on him herself, ever since they lived 
at Mr. Gladstone’s together, and she had come right over 
to see. 

Nancy had emphatically cleared her skirts of the mis- 
demeanor, and then Lucretia had launched out into 
terrible invectives against whoever had so sinned. 

“Never mind,” said Nancy, consolingly; “they’ll get 
their reward in the next world, if they don’t in this. 
That is always such a comfort.” 

“There ain’t no certainty about that,” said Lucretia, 
tartly. “Just before they die, they’ll, like as not, repent 
and be forgiven ; and that’s what provokes me.” 

The moon was flinging a single silvery beam into 
Rebecca’s chamber. When she had thrown off her 
bonnet, she knelt in the white circle of its radiance and 
thanked God — not for peace, but for pain; not for con- 
tentment, but for aspiration. 


A woman’s secret. 


119 


XII. 

THE SILENT SHREW. 

One warm Sabbath in July, Wyndham was electrilied 
by a new sensation. Mrs. Abraham Gladstone had fainted 
in church. It is not to be supposed that this was the first 
indication which that lady had shown of “feeling the 
heat” in an unusual manner. Far from it. For nearly a 
month she had given unmistakable evidence of unusual 
sensitiveness in that direction. She persisted, in all 
weathers, in sleeping with her chamber windows wide 
open, somewhat to the annoyance of Mr. Gladstone, who 
was subject to colds in the head. All day long, and every 
day, she kept the house in an equally well ventilated 
condition ; at least, so it seemed to Mr. Gladstone, who 
never entered it but he found a breeze like a northwester 
careering through it, which, while it was sometimes wel- 
come, at others produced the sensation of a cold shower- 
bath. Mr. Gladstone suggested fans, which suggestion 
being received in silence, he brought home and distributed 
through the house a half dozen substantial palm leaves. 
Not one of them, that he could discover, was ever 
removed from the place where he had put it; but still the 
doors and windows were so set as to fan the house with 
incessant draughts. Years of experience had taught Mr. 
Gladstone the utter uselessness of expostulations. Mrs. 
Gladstone never talked, but she had a habit of self-defense 
akin to that of some otherwise impotent animals. She 
filled the house with the odor of her martyrdom, to that 
extent that no person with ordinary olfactory sensibilities 
could abide in it. Mr. Gladstone was convinced that it 
wasn’t palm leaves that she wanted, and possessed 


120 


A woman’s secret. 


himself with the requisite patience to find out what it 
was. On that memorable Sunday, when she had fainted 
and been carried out by the gentlemen, she had been 
arrayed in her best, including the blue silk, and the lace 
flounce. When, therefore, Mr. Gladstone had suggested: 
“Melissa, if you would use a fan, I think you wouldn’t 
get so faint,” and the suggestion had been received with 
the accustomed silence, it occurred to him, by some subtile 
law of association, that the quaint old combination of wire ♦ 
and turkey feathers which did duty in their pew, as a 
moderator of the weather, would not accord perfectly 
with Mrs. Gladstone’s attire. Mrs. Gladstone, he knew, 
was a martyr to the proprieties. He felt certain that she 
would die, or, at the least, faint in the most graceful and 
approved style, before she would consent to use a thing in 
the least degree inferior to what she considered due to 
her position. Mr. Gladstone felt relieved, and without 
another word went right away to Parker’s, and bought a 
fan of scarlet silk and sandal wood, which he brought 
home and duly presented to his wife. 

She was sitting on the sofa in their little sitting-room; 
the pretty basket work-stand which she so delighted in 
drawn close beside her, and Echo snuggled in the corner 
of the sofa, and covered with his gay colored afghan. 
Nothing could be cosier or more tempting than the picture 
thus presented. 

“ Melissa,” said Mr. Gladstone, sitting down beside her, 

“ I was in at Parker’s to-day, and saw a pretty fan, at least 
I thought it pretty, and as I have noticed, lately, that you 
have no handsome fan, I bought it for you. I hope it will 
please you.” 

Mrs. Gladstone took the opened box, which contained 
the fan, and glancing at it, without even taking it out, laid 
it into the work-basket. 

“ It is very pretty.” 


A woman’s secret. 


121 


It was not, all things considered, a very satisfactory 
acceptance; but, then, Abraham reflected that his wife was 
not a talker, a fact upon which he had prided himself not 
a little before their marriage — he had learnt wisdom since, 
and strove to be content. 

Melissa certainly looked very pretty that evening. She 
was always faultlessly neat and tasteful in her appearance. 
She was, besides, a good housekeeper, and very exact and 
conscientious about nearly all the details of her manner 
and conduct. For instance, she would have cut ofi* her 
hand, or, more expressive still, would have denied herself, 
for a season, of any darling elegance in dress, before she 
would run in debt; and no man had less cause than Abra- 
ham Gladstone to complain of his wife’s conduct toward 
her gentlemen acquaintances. It had sometimes occurred 
to Abraham, that a larger and more liberal soul might 
have been less guarded at some of these points, without, at 
the same time, trespassing against any reasonable bounds. 
However, that he felt might be drawing rather too fine a 
line ; and he satisfied himself with saying, that, on the 
whole, Melissa was in these respects a model wife. 

Then, she was his first love ; all the romance and senti- 
ment of his youth had clustered about her, and you know 

“ You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, 

The scent of the roses will hang round it still.” 

On this particular evening, Abraham felt a kindly return 
of the love of his youth ; and as Melissa sat there, stitch- 
ing busily at some delicate trifle of muslin, he was strongly 
tempted to be afiectionate. So, putting his arm about her 
waist, he said : 

“ Melissa, I think you might lay aside that work for a 
few minutes, and just make yourself entertaining. I don’t 
know when I’ve held your hand in mine for a minute, as I 
used to, before we were married.” 

F 


122 


A woman’s secret. 


His purpose was very apparent, but then it was also very 
innocent. With a scarcely perceptible motion, she drew 
herself away from him, and replied, in that calm, even 
voice — the voice that never scolded: 

“Mr. Gladstone, you forget yourself.” 

Abraham’s dream dissolved in an instant. He kissed 
her because he would kiss her, she receiving the caress 
under a silent protest; and then he found a book, and 
taking refuge in an easy chair, beguiled the remainder 
of the evening with a Treatise on the Marriage Contract. 

Abraham watched carefully for the first appearance in 
public of the new fan. He watched in vain. He had a 
well founded belief that it had never been taken from its 
box. At last, after several weeks had elapsed, during 
which, however, the house had returned to its normal 
condition respecting ventilation, he one day inquired : 

“Melissa, why do you never carry your new fan ?” 

“ The odor of sandal-wood is very offensive to me.” 

“ Why, in the name of all the saints, didn’t you tell me 
that before ? ” 

“I supposed you knew it.” 

Abraham shut his teeth together. It was of no use to 
talk. He could not say anything to acceptance, unless he 
were to say exactly the thing which she was bent upon 
making him say, and what that was he had not as yet the 
most remote idea. He made a blind effort, fortunately in 
the right direction. 

“If you never intend to use the fan, perhaps you had 
better take it to Parker^ and ask him to exchange it for 
one you can use.” 

“ I think the price of this fan was six dollars. He has 
one for twelve, that would suit me precisely ; but that, I 
am aware, is more than you are able to pay.” 

“ Not at all,” said Abraham, “ anything for peace,” and 
he took out the money, and gave it to her at once. He 


A woman’s secret. 


128 


was presently made to regret the last exclamation, for her 
martyr-like silence recalled it to him every hour of that 
day, and many days thereafter. 

Mrs. Gladstone went down to Parker’s, the next morn- 
ing, and exchanged the red fan for a blue one, the exact 
shade of her dress, with elegantly cut pearl sticks. When 
the coveted article was fairly in her possession — 

“ Now,” she said to herself, “ if Lucy Ellery should be 
married this fall, as I think she will, I am ready for the 
wedding. I can go as well dressed as Mrs. Darrell, if not 
better.” 

It was a most important and desirable consummation. 

To Abraham, meanwhile, the bitterest part of his pov- 
erty was the poverty of his. home-life. He was struggling 
manfully with his pecuniary burden. He had many dis- 
couragements, but against them all he made headway. 
There were days, it is true, when his labor was hard and 
exhausting ; when, from those who were his open friends, he 
experienced secret enmity; when the selfishness, the rivalry, 
the combativeness that must enter largely into the life of 
the successful man, made sad inroads upon his patience, 
his temper, his faith. At such times he fully realized how 
it was that woman was made a helpmeet for man ; a foun- 
tain of spiritual strength in reserve, a portion of heavenly 
grace and benediction, incarnated and placed in his home 
for the daily and hourly reinforcement of his spiritual 
nature. In his own peculiar nook at home hung a little 
copy of Ary Schaffer’s Dante and Beatrice, and to his 
hungry soul there seemed a peculiar significance in the 
attitudes of the figures. The poet looks up to the woman, 
the woman looks up to heaven ; and, as he studied the 
picture, he saw plainly how the struggles of a man’s hard, 
material life, make him unfit for the direct influence of 
the heavenly wisdom. His eyes grow blurred with looking 
BO much through vapors; his senses grow dulled with 


124 


A woman’s secret. 


the constant giving and receiving of blows. How fit and 
meet, then, that in the sacred refuge of home shall be one 
whose very offices keep alive constantly her spiritual 
nature, and through whose innocent caresses and pure 
endearments heaven’s blessings may descend to his weary 
soul. The man who looks thus upon his wife will never 
regard her physical weakness or incapacity as a proof of 
inferiority. If earth were all, if there were no heaven 
above us, the giant would be the highest type of human 
life. If we take the spiritual world into the account, who 
is so near it, who draws so fully and so freely from it, as 
the true, perfected woman ? 

One step farther. If Mrs. Gladstone was a stunted, 
abortive, imperfect specimen of womankind, who made 
her so to difier from nobler representatives of her sex? 
Not herself, surely, for she was essentially what she was 
born, and what circumstances had made her. If her 
soul was dark and narrow, and conditioned all around by 
strong desires and ingrained prejudices, it was, neverthe- 
less, just what was given her by her parents, modified by 
some months, more or less, of ante-natal experience. A 
deep seer has said, “ The gate of gifts closes at one’s 
birth and to her forming had gone little that was broad, 
or wise, or tender, or true. Is it best, by ignorance and 
unwise restraint, to multiply such mothers upon the face 
of the earth? 

Cultivation may do much — the Spirit of God may do 
much more — but no power of God Himself has ever been 
made manifest that can change the essential and ingrained 
attributes of a human soul. The man or the woman that 
is born narrow, or sensual, or arbitrary, may be modified 
by after infiuences, but can never become, in any large 
sense, truly broad, or pure, or gentle. 

On a day of this same July, Rebecca took Evelyn out 
on a berrying excursion along the roadside. The bushes 


A woman’s secret. 


125 


were few, and their success was not cheering. Just as 
they were about to turn their steps homeward, however, 
a carriage appeared upon the road, and Mr. Gladstone’s 
voice cried out in its gayest tone to Evelyn : 

“ How, now, little one ? Raspberries are scarce here, 
are they not ? ” 

Mr. Gladstone was fond of children, and had somehow 
contracted a special predilection for Evelyn Darrell, 
which, with the usual spontaneity of children, she cordi- 
ally returned : 

“Yes, indeed,” replied Evelyn. “Mr. Gladstone, where 
are yowr raspberry bushes ? You told me that you had 
the finest in town.” 

“ So I have. Jump into the buggy with me, and I’ll 
show them to you.” 

“ Come, Reba,” said Eva, eagerly. 

Rebecca hesitated for a moment. Then reflecting that 
what would be discretion in a young lady might seem 
mere prudery in a children’s nurse, she followed the lead 
of the impatient child. Mr. Gladstone noticed that 
momentary hesitation. It led him to bestow more atten- 
tion upon Rebecca than he might otherwise have done. 
His instantaneous reflection was — 

“ What a very ladylike looking person for a child’s nurse.” 

He had intended to lift Eva over the wheel without 
himself alighting, but that glance at Rebecca changed his 
resolution, and he sprang out and assisted them both into 
the vehicle. All this was by-play, however. His main 
object was evidently to enjoy a chat and a frolic with 
Evelyn. 

“My raspberry bushes are out in a field,” he said, “ and 
I have not the least idea how I am to get a young lady like 
you over the fence.” 

“ Oh ! but I can climb any fence in this town. My 
uncle says I’m a romp.” 


126 


A woman’s skcket. 


“ Oh ! the doctor’s an old fogy.” 

‘'An old what! Mr. Gladstone, isn’t that slang?” 

There ! I knew I should shock such a prim young 
woman as you are. I’m about sorry I offered to show 
yon the raspberries after all.” 

“Mr. Gladstone, you are not the least sorry — you know 
yo i are not. But you don’t like my uncle, and I do.” 

“ On the contrary, I like him immensely — all the better 
because he has such a charming little niece.” 

“You are flattering me, and I shall tell Mrs. Gladstone,” 
said Evelyn, whom his raillery had provoked to play the 
prude. 

“Ah! no you will not,” said Mr. Gladstone. “I shall 
kiss you — first on one cheek, like that! and then on the 
other, so ! and you will not dare to tell Mrs. Gladstone 
even then.” 

Evelyn screamed, and just then they arrived at the field. 
Mr. Gladstone alighted and hitched the horse, prophesying 
all the time that he should never be able to get Evelyn 
over the fence. But, finally, he lifted her out in his arms, 
and, giving a spring, jumped the fence himself and set 
her safely down upon the other side. 

“Now,” he said, “you must excuse me a moment, while 
I go back for your governess.” 

lie went over the fence this time a little more circum- 
spectly, and politely assisted Reba. 

Rebecca had listened all the while to the cheery sound 
of his voice, and felt what a large, pure, noble soul it was 
that could so disport itself with a little child. As he 
suddenly turned to come toward her, however, there was 
something in his manner, or perhaps some expression of 
his face, which struck her as painfully familiar. 

As he turned away with Eva, to help her pull down the 
bushes, she had a good opportunity to study his face. It 
was strong, open, honest. 


A WOxMAN’S secret. 


127 


“ Oh !” she said to herself, “ I see; it is the cleft chin. 
Am I never to see a cleft chin again, but that old ghost 
shall rise to haunt me ? It was that, then, together with 
the dark visage, which deceived me in that picture of the 
doctor’s. It is a family trait repeated here. I am glad to 
put that doubt to rest.” 

In truth it had vaguely troubled her, ever since the day 
when she had fainted at sight of the doctor’s pocket-case ; 
but now she dismissed it altogether from her mind, and 
quietly enjoyed the high spirits and rather rollicking fun 
of her companions. Presently, in some rash escapade, 
Evelyn scratched her arm with a long thorn of the raspbeny 
bushes. She screamed, and Mr. Gladstone instantly became 
all regret and sympathy. It was a long and deep mark, 
and Rebecca drew forth her handkerchief and bound it up. 

“ What a graceful, womanly way she has for a servant,” 
thought Mr. Gladstone, “ and so much true feeling, too. 
There must be a story about her. I will ask Darrell some 
time.” 

They walked along the fence for a quai'ter of a mile, 
picking the berries as they went. By that time their 
baskets were quite full, and they started to retrace their 
steps. Evelyn was growing tired, and her glee was less 
noisy; and, to fill the pauses of their talk, Mr. Gladstone 
was obliged to address himself to Reba. 

It was simple chat, a mere observation upon the fineness 
of the berries this year, and the promise of fruit in the 
orchards; but Rebecca’s voice, and the refined construc- 
tion of her sentences, deepened the impression of her face 
and bearing. As Mr. Gladstone left her with Eva, at Mr. 
Darrell’s gate, he thought to himself : 

“ Melissa is quite as delicately feminine and pretty as 
this woman. Ah ! why has she not more of that dewy 
softness in her eye, more of that tremulous music in her 
voice ? ” 


128 


A woman’s secret. 


But he checked himself. Most men in his circumstances 
would have held at least the fancy free to roam. Not 
Abraham Gladstone. Besides that the circumstances of 
his life filled him with grave and noble thought, to the 
exclusion of all trifling and dalliance , the innate honesty 
of the man held him true to his sacred pledge: “To 
forsake all others, and keep you only unto her.” The 
words had a meaning to him which he dared not ignore 
or scorn. But, if he had no right to sigh over this woman’s 
charms, there was no law, human or divine, to prevent his 
yielding to her the respectful admiration which a true 
manhood ever accords to a pure and tender womanhood. 

Thereafter, however preoccupied, he never met her on 
the street without a grave recognition and a courteous 
gesture. 


A woman’s secret. 


129 


XIII. 

CHIEFLY METAPHYSICAL. 

The beautiful October weather came, and still Mrs. 
Darrell gained little relief. Her husband had grown to 
regard her malady as a pardonable mental weakness. It 
was the drawback upon having a wife, that most of them 
were subject to some such unreasonable freak. He tried 
to bear the trial philosophically, and even with Christian 
resignation, though it must be confessed that sometimes, 
when she lay awake for nearly the whole night, or worse, 
got so restless, so beset with baleful shadows and horrible 
sounds and surmises that she could no longer stay in bed, 
but was fain to rise and light a lamp to dispel her demons, 
his temper nearly failed him. However, on the whole, he 
behaved with quite exemplary moderation. 

He must occasionally, to be sm*e, have his joke at her 
expense ; mimic her sighs, tease her whims, call her his 
melancholy Ophelia, and warn her that, if she committed 
suicide, she needn’t expect Christian burial ; and all this 
not exactly in that loving kind of banter which amounts 
to a caress, but with a spice of sarcasm, which cut deeply 
into the sensitive heart of the suffering woman. 

Whereupon the doctor soliloquized: “The men of 
each generation make fools of themselves after their own 
fashion. Fifty years ago, men worked their wives as they 
would have thought it folly to work their brutes, in the 
same condition. The consequence is, that the women of 
to-day are physically only to be put in glass cases, and 
kept out of harm’s way, like other ornamental ware. But 
they are fine grained, full of feelings and susceptibilities 
which their mothers never knew, and which their husbands 


130 


A woman’s secret. 


— make fun of. They say women and black inen are 
"pecially cursed in the Bible. White meil gO free* It*s 
just — as— well. The Lord knew that their — blindness 
and — wrong-headedhess would make it about even.” 

But tiauraj often wounded, bore no malice. “ It is hard,” 
she said, “for Ralph to have such a miserable apology for 
a wife. I do hope, when the fall weather comes, I shall 
get stronger.” 

So, every day she took her spiritless frame out upon the 
sunny hillsides, and basked in the October glory, and 
pulled the asters, and the golden-rod; and gazing dreamily 
off into the delicious hazy distance,wondered, and wondered, 
and wondered — why God, who is goodness, made women 
as He did; and making them so, a sealed mystery, a laby- 
rinth of strange uses and seemingly contradictory mean- 
ings, why He had given to no mortal being the clue thereof. 
And she prayed earnestly, fervently, for light ; light for 
herself, and light for others of her sex. And so her days 
went on. 

At the back of the house, and across a smooth ravine, 
rose a rocky hill, crowned at the top with a pine grove. 
Stunted pines and bay-berry bushes grew here and there 
over the hillside; but there were smooth, open patches of 
mossy turf, and broad plateaus of ledge, where Laura 
delighted to sit and drink in the warm October sunshine. 
It seemed to her that the blue sky overhead, the affluence 
of the golden air saturated with the aromatic breath of 
the pines, and made musical by their almost articulate 
murmurs, the broad expanse of the landscape before her, 
and the tender, delicious distance, were all medicaments 
of rare and potent worth. In the grove above her the 
children played with Rebecca, gathering pine cones, or 
tossing about the fragrant leaves, or mimicking, with 
childish glee, the cawing of the crows that yearly built in 
the topmost branches of the trees. 


A woman’s secret. 


131 


As the day waned, the children would come shouting 
down the hillside, toward her, bringing such treasures as 
they had gathered ; usually recounting to her some stoiy, 
with which Rebecca had managed to hold their attention, 
and so keep them within the sound of her voice. Some- 
times it was the tale of a fern leaf, that ages ago prayed 
for immortality, and so, through fire, and flood, and gi*eat 
upheavings, was turned to stone, and lives to-day in the 
slaty ledges of the mountains. Sometimes it was about the 
great pine forests, which moaned and sighed through 
imnurabered ages that a soul might be given them — and 
the pines moan and sigh to this day, with that remem- 
bered agony; how they were swept with devouring flames 
and transformed to immense repositories of fossil coal; 
and then, when they had lain other ages in the deep, deep 
bosom of the earth, were put again to torture of man’s 
devising, and there leaped forth that bright, ethereal 
flame-spirit, that makes our homes beautiful by night, and 
lights up, like a torch from Heaven, the unsightly abodes 
of crime. Or, it was a fairy tale of how a nymph grew 
weary of her ocean home, and prayed for a respite from 
the never ceasing murmur of the sea, and a dwelling 
among the green bowers of earth. How her prayer was 
granted, and she was imprisoned in her shell, and thrown 
by strong tides upon the shining beach. There an artist 
found the shell, and seeing, by his inner vison, the impris- 
oned nymph, with his chisel set her free, and she became 
a cameo. Thus, by arraying grave truths in the garments 
of a pure and beautiful Action, were their tender minds 
both amused and instructed, their fancy stirred, their 
imagination given wings, and their hearts touched with 
tenderness. 

“ I believe,” said Mrs. Darrell one day, “I will keep you 
with me, Reba, and let the children go into the woods 
by themselves. I think I need you most.” 


132 


A woman’s secret. 


So the childi’eii strayed off, and the two women sat on 
the outcropping surface of a great gTanite ledge, and 
talked. 

“I want to know,” said Mrs. Dan-ell, “if it ever seems 
to you that you retain impressions of a previous state of 
existence. Can you not look back in some dim, vague 
way, upon a life that preceded this, and seems some way 
of deeper, grander import?” 

Reba replied dreamily : “ I look back thus upon my 

childhood. Beyond that, I have no glimmer of reminis- 
cence.” 

Laura refrained from questions, A determined ques- 
tioner is a nuisance; a person forever prying about the 
roots of one’s cherished delicacies with his intrusive, 
inevitable spade. These two women were both of too 
line a liber for that. 

“I have heard the same remark made before,” said 
Reba, “ but it always seemed to me that the phenomenon 
must be referable to one or other of two causes. It 
seems to me that I can easily imagine impressions made 
so strongly upon the mother’s mind as to leave a life-long 
imprint upon the mind of the child. The connection 
between child and mother during the ante-natal period is 
so strong, that it seems to me fairly to cover these 
impressions. Or, it may be referable to the double con- 
sciousness of the soul, a thing at present so mistily under- 
stood, that I think the less said about it the better, 
except to mark such phenomena concerning it as are well 
known and authenticated. After all, I am no metaphy- 
sician, and scarcely competent to speak at all on the 
subject.” 

“But it seems to me, Reba, that without, perhaps, 
being richly gifted with logical powers, you have that 
purely feminine quality of the intellect, intuition, rarely 
developed. I like what you say, because it always goes 


A woman’s secret. 


133 


lo the heart of a thing, without, perhaps, leaving a well 
beaten path behind. Now, I have more of my father in 
me, intellectually, than of my mother; so I reason better 
than I see.” 

“As you gi-ow womanly through suffering,” said Reba, 
“ your vision will gi*ow cleai’er. Men have to walk instead 
of soaring, because the exercise of their lives does not 
develop their wings, or, to speak literally, their spiritual 
insight. Let the most manly man but suffer deeply 
enough, and his wings begin to grow straightway; he 
begins to speak intuitionally, that is, in the speech of 
women, the speech of angels.” 

“Which shows the exceeding consistency of setting 
reason above insight; a life of labor above a life of endur- 
ance.” 

The carriage came up the road to take Mi’s. DaiTell and 
the children into the village, and Rebecca lingered alone 
among the pines. Lying down upon the soft and fragrant 
couch which the years had spread for her, and resting her 
head upon the trunk of a fallen tree, in a sorrowful, 
dejected way, she began a sort of unconscious review of 
her life, the pines all the while whispering their mournful 
cadences through her soul. 

There were times, one cannot deny it, when her bruised 
and broken heart yearned for deeper comfort, more 
abounding strength, than her circumstances afforded her. 
There were haunting memories that would not be laid, 
but which made the watches of many a night sleepless 
and tearful. Eyes that would flash on her through 
dreams, tones that freighted every wind, the “touch of 
vanished hands ” that thrilled her hour by hour as she 
went about her daily duties. This and that surging aspi- 
ration, which is at once the bane and the blessing of every 
noble heart; which breaks up the soul’s peace and makes 
wreck and ruin of many patient graces, but which also 


134 


A woman’s secret. 


tides grand resolves over sandy bars and. shallow flats, 
and transforms an infinite calm into an infinite grandeur. 

With her mind thus unsettled, and its most orderly 
forces in revolt, who can measure the force of the temp- 
tation which the doctor’s evident partiality afiforded her? 
Only the evening before, under pretense of seeing how 
Mr. Darrell’s new preventive of curculio worked, he had 
sought her in the garden, and sitting by her side in the 
honeysuckle arbor, had talked with her in a way in which 
she knew the doctor was not in the habit of talking to 
most women. She recalled the soft luster of his deep, 
gray eyes, the light touch of his hand, as it had rested 
for a moment upon her shoulder, the silent tenderness 
with which he had guarded her from the evening damp- 
ness. She thought, with throbs of yearning and desire, 
what it would be to her to live in his house, to find there 
protection, companionship, the right to love and be loved ; 
and then, knowing what barrier stood in the way, she 
buried her face in her hands and wept convulsively. 

“ The days of God are a thousand years,” whispered 
the inner voice to Rebecca, as she lay there like a bruised 
sea-flower, stranded on a hard, though shining beach. 
“ Gird thy soul with patience and wait.” 

Suddenly there came to her a flash of vision. The 
whole immense universe of God wheeled slowly before 
her eyes; star intersecting star in its orbit’; sun balancing 
sun ; system answering to system, in perfect harmony and 
equipoise. All in swift motion, too, through distances 
which made speed itself seem slowness, and moving with 
such precision and mutual dependence, that the least 
mischance to one must disarrange the whole. 

“Behold,” said the voice, “all this hath the Father 
planned since before the ages were. Till this time hath 
been no flaw, no discord. Is He able, do you think, to 
order your little life aright? Is His universe of stars more 


A woman’s secret. 


135 


precious to Him than His universe of souls ? Shall He care 
for the one and despise the other? Trust Him and wait.” 

There was a great influx of light in Rebecca’s soul, and 
she went down to her home full of peace and joy. The 
vision had left behind a prophesy. From that hour she 
knew that, whether or not she had ordained it, her Father 
had ordained for her — change; and in the far future per- 
haps, yet a future toward which she was traveling with the 
swiftness of the stars over the infinite spaces of heaven — 
rest, peace. 

Such moments of ecstasy are more truly elevating and 
refining than any intellectual process. They lift the soul 
in an instant to a point which labor can never attain, and 
the remembrance of which, though the wave recedes, the 
soul never entirely loses. 

Rebecca took up again the commonplaces of her life, 
with new faith, new patience. Her heart had gathered 
strength ; and, when the duties of the day were done, she 
found a moment’s time to run over to Miss Joanna’s nur- 
sery, to undress the little Catherine, and rub her rosy 
limbs, to kiss her pretty cheeks, and at last to rock her to 
sleep upon her bosom. Then she sat by the crib, and 
watched the little sleeper, while Miss Joanna chatted. 

“You cannot imagine how fond I am getting of this 
child. I, who never used to love babies at all, except at a 
distance. I had not the least adaptation to them. What 
it was that set Milton thinking that a babe would be com- 
pany for me, I cannot divine. But then, Milton is a wonder 
of comprehension, when there is a woman concerned. I 
shall never forget how amazed I was that morning, as I 
saw him coming up the walk, that strange nurse-girl with 
him, and this child. I ran up stairs, I assure you I did, 
without stopping for an explanation. Mamma exclaimed, 

* Milton, what have you done now ? ’ I heard it as I went 
up the stairs. ‘ Brought Joanna a present from New 


136 


A woman’s secret. 


York,’ said Milton, with that imperturbable face of his. 
I thought at once, ‘ Oh ! it is a black child. I have always 
had such an anti-slavery hobby.’ So then I stole back 
again. But, no ! it was this dear, little, delicate creature, 
as sweet as a May flower. It quite took my breath to 
look at her, I was so nervous in those days. It is impos- 
sible to say how much I have improved since then. 

“ ‘Whose is it?’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Yours,’ said Milton. 

“ ‘ No, but who are its parents ? ’ 

‘“That I don’t know, any more than you. I found it 
on the street, and saved it from the city alms-house.’ 

“ I think I blushed. I am sure, when I thought, ‘ she is 
really mine, then,’ my heart gave a great leap. It was 
such a thing to have a little babe like that to love, and to 
live for, and to feel was my own. But I could not say all 
that then. In fact, I think I manifested some reluctance 
to accept the charge. But that was soon over, and then 
I somehow felt so much younger and cheerier than I had 
for years. 

“ There had been a great sadness in my life. I think 
sometimes, as I look into your face, that you, too, know 
what heart-sorrow is, which is perhaps the reason I feel 
like telling you all these things. I had tried all the sources 
of consolation that I could think of, but none of them 
seemed to touch the springs of my life. I had read, I had 
studied, I had practiced charities in a quiet way ; I was not 
born a colporteur, or a city mission agent ; I got a piano, 
and tried music ; I had attended prayer-meetings, and 
made use of all religious exercises, not without comfort ; 
but everything I did seemed to have a morbid zest about 
it, until this dear child came. The baby fingers reached 
right down to my heart-strings, and in two days’ time I 
felt human again.” 

There was a dainty stain of rose upon her cheek, and a 


A woman’s secret. 


137 


deep, absent look in her eye ; and Rebecca, sitting oppo- 
site her, and seeing it all by the blaze of the wood-fire on 
the hearth, thought she had never seen so lovely a face. 

They sat there in the silence, and the cheerful glow of 
the fire, Rebecca still rocking the baby’s cradle, and tears 
hanging on the lids of both, when the doctor entered. 

“ Good evening, Rebecca,” he said, kindly, drawing off 
his driving-glove, and extending his hand to her, in the 
quiet, friendly way, that had latterly marked his manner 
toward her. “ The evening air grows chilly. There will 
be a frost, I think.” 

There was nothing of haste or excitement in his manner, 
as he sat down before the fire, and spread out his hands to 
warm them. 

“ The day has been very lovely,” said Rebecca. “ Mrs. 
Darrell, and the children, and I, have been out nearly all 
the afternoon. I think this autumn weather is reviving 
Mrs. Darrell.” 

“A trifle — a trifle, may be. I hope she’ll get better 
soon ; she’ll need strength. Ralph Darrell — is — a — ^pretty 
sick — man.” 

“Is Mr. Darrell ill?” said Rebecca. “ Then I must go 
at once.” 

“ He was taken with a fainting fit, in his office, about an 
hour ago. I brought him home. It’s going to be a fever. 
The fever — won’t be — bad — I hope, but he’s dreadful 
nervous; dreadful — nervous^ 

The doctor held the words upon his tongue as if they 
had a comfortable relish. 

“ About as nervous a man as I ever saw. It’ll be a job 
to take care of him. I don’t — want — to — hurry you 
home — Rebecca — don’t want to hurry you away — but I 
think, as like as not, Laura’d be glad to see you. Tell her 
I shall come over again, before I go to bed.” 

Rebecca hurried on her shawl, and started for home as 
F2 


138 


A woman’s secret. 


soon as possible. At the door she met Joel, the doctor’s 
fat, lazy, faithful, good-natured man. 

“ The doctor said I’d better wait, miss, and take you 
over to Mr. Darrell’s, as Mrs. Darrell, she’s in a mighty 
hurry to have you get home,” said Joel. “Better jump 
right inter the shay.” 

Rebecca needed no second invitation, and in three min- 
utes’ time Joel set her down at Mr. Darrell’s door. 

“ Mighty fine woman, that is,” said Joel; “doctor thinks 
so, too. Fact, I shouldn’t a-thought oii’t if it hadn’t been for 
him — though he never said nothing about her. Doctor’s a 
judge of women. Wonder, if he was me, which he would 
choose — Nancy or Oreeshy?” 

This was a subject upon which Joel’s mind had been 
greatly exercised for the last ten years, and he seemed to 
be no nearer a solution of the problem than ever. The 
doctor thought it was doubtful if ever he would be, unless 
he received some extraneous aid, and meditated offering 
him, sometime, a word of advice. He wasn’t in any hurry 
about it, though. There was time enough yet. 


A woman’s secret. 


139 


XIV. 

hysterics: male species. 

Mr. Darrell was nervous, and with reason. For years 
he had applied himself assiduously to his business, without 
allowing himself time for that social and domestic relaxa- 
tion which his system required. His business enterprises 
had always been, as compared to the capital invested in 
them, disproportionately large. The consequence was, that 
his mental powers were kept constantly on the alert, and 
strained to their utmost tension, to foresee and prepare for 
the varying contingencies of trade. He had thus far been 
uniformly successful, but at a cost of vital power, which 
he himself was the last to realize. A trifle of indigestion, 
neglected, induced a fever ; and the system, ripe before 
for revolution, made vigorous preparations to avenge 
abuses. 

When Rebecca reached home, she found the patient 
comfortably ensconced in his bed, and Mrs. Darrell sitting 
beside him, bathing his head with cologne and water. 
His eyes had a glassy stare in them, and his hand twitched 
nervously at the bed clothes. He was evidently in a very 
excited and restless state. Yet, as he had a strong mas- 
culine frame, and lacked those fine adjustments which 
render the female system peculiarly sensitive to nervous 
derangements, it cannot be supposed that his sufferings 
were extreme. They were quite sufficient, however, to 
upset both his reason and his temper. 

“ I’m a terribly sick man, Rebecca,” he said. “ I hope 
I shall get over it; but the doctor looked very grave. 
You will have to take care of the children and the house- 
work, for I shall need my wife’s care every moment. 


140 


A WOMAN'S SECRET. 


Laura, what are your pillows made of? I should think 
this one was stuffed with cobble stones.” 

Mrs. Darrell put down her sponge, and proceeded to 
smooth his pillow ; and Rebecca, after ascertaining that 
she could be of no immediate use, was leaving the room, 
to attend to her other duties, when Mr. Darrell called : 

“Rebecca, the doctor left directions for preparing me 
some sort of gruel or toast water. Nancy never will 
do it as it should be done. Won’t you attend to it 
yourself? ” 

Rebecca promised, and came back to receive her instruc- 
tions from Mrs. Darrell. By that time cool water had to 
be brought from the kitchen, and then Mr. Darrell felt as 
if he needed mustard poultices on his feet, till at last 
Rebecca began to think that it would be midnight before 
she should get time to put the children to bed. 

Mrs. Darrell watched with the patient, and she was kept 
constantly busy with his various demands and surmises. 
At one time she had placed a pillow at the back of her 
easy chair, and fancied, as her husband was quite comfort- 
able, and declared his intention to go to sleep, that she 
also might get a doze. Hardly, however, had she closed 
her eyes, when he was sitting up in the bed, exclaiming in 
a startled whisper : 

“ Laura ! there are robbers getting in at the dining-room 
window. Listen ! don’t you hear the rasping of the saw?” 

“It is only a rat, my dear, gnawing in the wall.” 

“A rat! Laura, do you suppose I have common sense, 
or not? I tell you, it is burglars.” 

“Very well,” said Laura, without stopping to remind 
him how many times her own nocturnal terrors had been 
made the theme of his scoffing and scorning, or to assure 
him that she had heard the same noise a thousand times 
when he was sound asleep, “ I will take the lamp, and go 
down and see,” 


A woman’s secret. 


141 


She went, and made a thorough investigation, but found 
nothing unusual. 

“ I am sure it was a rat,” she said. “Now, do compose 
yourself, and try to get a little sleep.” 

“Laura, you speak of my composing myself, as if I 
could compose myself. If I could compose myself, I 
shouldn’t be nervous. I tell you, when a man is nervous, 
he can’t help it.” 

Laura smiled inwardly, but only said, in the kindest 
possible tone : 

“ I know that very well, my dear. I only meant that you 
should try to forget your fears, and go to sleep, if you could.” 

“ I can’t go to sleep. I tell you, Laura, I’m dreadful 
sick. I’ll have Dr. Ferris called in to-morrow. I don’t 
believe Milton knows anything about fevers ; fevers, with 
nervous complications, I mean.” 

“ Very well,” said Laura; “ there is no objection to yom* 
calling Dr. Ferris, it you like. 1 guess i had better give you 
a sleeping powder now, for you must go to sleep, if it is 
possible.” ^ 

He took the medicine, and after that did get a little 
restless sleep ; but, before morning, Rebecca was called 
up to make fresh mustard poultices ; and as soon as the 
day broke, John was dispatched for the doctor. 

“Shall I send him for Dr. Ferris ?” asked Mrs. Darrell. 

“ Laura, how you talk ! Do you suppose I want to be 
drugged to death ? If I am to die, I prefer dying a natural 
death.” 

Which was all the same to Laura as if he had said : 

“ No, my dear, I have changed my mind.” 

Morning only made it more apparent that it was a case 
of settled fever — not alarming, but one which would 
probably keep him in his room for two or three weeks. 

“Laura,” said the doctor, “who are you going to get to 
watch, to-night?” 


142 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


Mr. Darrell looked up in some alarm. 

“Why, Laura, you don’t think of leaving me, do 
you ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! ” she said ; “ at least, not at present. But I 
suppose I might have some one to help me a little, so that 
I can hold out the longer.” 

“ Y-e-s,”' said Mr. Darrell, doubtingly ; but I want you, 
I don’t know what’s the use of having a wife, if she can’t 
take care of a man when he’s sick.” 

“ Ho-ho-ho ! ” said the doctor, pensively. “ Some rules 
dorCt work both ways^ 

“ I shall take care of you, Ralph,” said Mrs. Darrell, 
firmly. “ I shall not leave you an instant, when I can help 
it. I know just how you feel, dear, and I would not for the 
world leave you.” 

He was somewhat reassured ; but the doctor made 
certain that a good and faithful watcher was found each 
night to make Laura’s duties less arduous. 

To tell how many different kinds of drink were prepared 
for Mr. Darrell, each one a more miserable failure than 
the last ; how many ways were devised to make his med- 
icines palatable; how many times his wife was called to 
hear the noises in his head; how many times the doctor 
was asked if he did not think that something ailed him 
more than he knew of — would be a work of supereroga- 
tion. Suffice it to say, that for a week he kept the house 
in a pretty continual state of uproar. At the end of that 
time, he had become so much reduced by his fever as to 
be in a quieter condition. But then he was like a child 
about his wife. She must sit by his bedside every 
moment, ready to give him anything he desired, and 
most- of the time to hold his hand, or bathe his head, or, 
by some means of personal contact, impart the cool, 
quiet magnetism of her veins to him. 

On one of those occasions, when she was holding his 


A woman’s secret. 


143 


hand in hers, and trying to compose him sufficiently to 
allow him to sleep, he exclaimed: 

“ I suppose, Laura, you think I’m very silly ; but if you 
are ever nervous, you’ll know.” 

Laura smiled. “I think, my dear, I do know all about 
it. I have seen a great many days when I would have given 
all I i^ossessed, if you would have left your business for 
an hour or two and petted me a little.” 

“ Why, Laura,” he cried, light breaking in upon his 
darkened mind, “ was that what ailed you?” 

When the crisis of the fever was passed, and the pet- 
tishness of convalescence came on, there was another 
season when it seemed as if no human power could please 
him. At one time he demanded of Laura why she would 
persist in wearing her walking boots in his room; to which 
her only reply was to take off her delicate slipper and 
hold it up to his view, when he informed her that she 
certainly had the tread of an elephant. The next day he 
accused her of stealing about his room as stealthily as an 
Indian — she was as sly as a cat, any way. She was worn 
with watching and anxiety, and these things were hard to 
bear ; but no one ever heard her answer him in any but 
the kindest tone, or knew her to abate one jot or tittle of 
her tenderness for him. 

And Ralph, who was noble and large hearted in the 
main, appreciated every bit of it. As he lay there, weak 
as an infant, upon the bed, and watched his wife’s untiring 
care and never failing patience, and, perhaps, thought 
how she herself had suffered when he had been indifferent, 
or even had made light of her sufferings, she seemed to 
him the very rose and queen of women. The love of his 
youth stirred in his veins, and he registered a vow, that 
if ever he got off that sick bed again, she should never 
more have cause to complain of his want of tenderness 
to her. 


144 


A woman’s secret. 


By and by, he was able to sit up for an hour or two at s 
time and hear her read. She began by bringing in ( 
newspaper and asking if she should read him the money 
article. He raised his hand impatiently. 

“Ho, indeed,” he cried; “I can’t abide that stuff yet. 
Laura, didn’t you once say that you’d like to read ‘Maud’ 
to me. We shall never have a better time for that than 
now.” 

She read “ Maud,” and that only led the way to other 
things. They got among the magazines and re-read her 
favorite pieces, love stories and all, till at last they got to 
talking love, and seemed to be renewing their old courting 
days. 

Ralph somehow felt a little as Rip Van Winkle must 
have, when he awoke from his long nap ; for it was a great 
while since Ralph had thought much about these things. 
He remembered that he used to think Laura’s taste a little 
immature and school-girlish; he wondered now to find 
what a cultivated woman she had grown to be. He was 
really proud of her, and felt rather ashamed of the blun- 
ders into which his unready memory sometimes led him. 

They had read and talked in this way one evening till 
the twilight overtook them. Outside the window by 
which they had been sitting, the gray wintry landscape, 
whitened here and there by the first snow fall, stretched 
away to the horizon, where rosy lights and purple shadows, 
reflections of the fading sunset, still lingered. Within, 
a glowing fire in the grate made the dusk seem tender 
and cheerful. Laura was sitting very close to her husband, 
his arm about her, her head upon his shoulder, a touch of 
the old girlish abandon in her manner that stirred his 
heart with delicious memories. Presently he felt a soft 
commotion in her bosom, and then a tear fell on his hand, 
and another, and another. 

‘‘Laura, darling,” he asked, “what is it?” 


A woman’s secret. 


145 


“God is so good,” she whispered softly, “to have given 
me back my husband.” 

“Laura,” he said, his own voice trembling now, “keep 
fast hold of him, and don’t let him leave you again. I feel 
as the apostles did when they beheld the transfiguration. 
*Let us build tabernacles; it is good for us to be here.’ ” 

By and by, when the lamps were lighted, the doctor 
dropped in. He looked at them both ; then sat down and 
looked into the fire, and whistled softly; no tune — he 
never whistled any tune — only a low, wind-like accom- 
paniment to an unspeakable thought. 

“You’ll be getting out to business soon, I suppose, 
Darrell? ” he said. 

“In a day or two, perhaps. I’m in no hurry.” 

“ I’m glad to hear it ; glad to hear it.” 

Another pause. Another low symphony from his lips. 

“ Darrell, you have been talking a good while about going 
to Washington. When will you ever find a better time 
than now; say, in a week or two.” 

“ That is sensible, doctor. Laura, what do you say? 
Can you be ready in a couple of weeks? That will give 
me time to go down to the oflice and look matters up a 
little, and then, if I find them all right, we’ll be ofi*. What 
do you say?” 

Going to Washington was one of Laura’s day dreams. 
To have it come true, just now, of all times, when Ralph 
would enjoy it with her so much more than usual, seemed 
almost too good, and she said so. 

“ No, indeed,” said Ralph, “ nothing is too good for this 
time. We’ll have a sort of second honeymoon out of it. 
I'm going to be a better man, doctor. I’m not going to 
work so like a dog any more.” 

“H’m,” said the doctor ; “take your honeymoon while 
you are in the fit of it. I have seen sick-room repentances 
before.” 

G 


146 


A woman’s secret. 


“No; but it’s dead earnest, this time,” said Ralph. 

“I hope so — I hope so,” said the doctor. “If thereis 
anything I can do, Laura, to help you off, let me know. 
You’ve got a good woman to leave with the children, and 
that is half the battle.” 

“ Indeed it is,” said Laura. And then, after a moment’s 
chat about family matters, the doctor left. 

Mr. and Mrs. Darrell were gone three weeks on their 
journey. They came back, at last, looking so well, so 
radiant, so youthful, that one could hardly believe they 
had been invalids when they set out. 

Rebecca, thinking of her vision of the stars, saw how 
one life is made to depend upon another for its times and 
its seasons ; how, sometimes, when we seem to be standing 
still, we are only making a little wider circuit, that we 
may catch the influence of some grander attraction, or 
avoid some clash of spheres fraught with unseen peril. 

“ For what do I wait ? ” she wondered ; and the unseen 
spaces echoed, “Wait.” 


A woman's secret. 


147 


XV. 

A DEED WITHOUT A NAME. 

Abraham Gladstone came home from his oflSce, one day, 
and found his wife in bed, with such a length of counte- 
nance and general aspect of immaculate suffering and 
martyred virtue, that he at once conjectured what was the 
trouble. In her determination to avoid maternal responsi- 
bilities, she had had an unusually severe struggle with 
nature, and her physical powers had for once been forced 
to succumb. 

“My dear, are you ill?” he asked kindly. 

“ I’m not quite as well as usual.” 

“ Shall I call the doctor ? ” 

“ By no means.” 

“ But you look very much exhausted, and it seems to me 
you have some fever.” 

She was silent, and silence with her was never consent. 

“ I don’t know whether you will find any dinner,” she 
said. “ Hepsey is not good for much, unless she has some- 
body to look after her.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about me. What shall I get for 
you?” 

“Nothing.” 

“ Not a little gruel ? ” 

“Such stuff as Hepsey could make?” 

Abraham began to take the hint. 

“ Perhaps I had better get some person to come and stay 
with you a day or two. It don’t seem to me that you will 
be able to get about the house to-morrow.” 

“ I don’t know of any one whom you could get.” 

“ I think Mary Crane would come.” 


148 


A woman’s secret. 


She was silent, and Abraham bethought himself that 
Mary was a very coarse, though averygoodnatured woman. 

“ Mrs. Gladstone could not abide coarseness. But whom 
to find, that would suit her, she could not think. Paragons 
of skill and elegance do not go out nursing in New England 
villages, as a general thing. 

“ I really don’t know,” he said at length, “ of anybody 
better than Mary.” 

“Mrs. Darrell always manages to get good help,” said 
Mrs. Gladstone ; “ but, then, she has money.” 

“ I have heard that she had an excellent nurse-girl now ; 
but I am afraid, Melissa, she will not be willing to part 
with her. One does not like to be unneighborly about those 
things, you know. Perhaps I can get mother to come 
over for a day or so.” 

Melissa said nothing. Mr. Gladstone knew, without 
being told, that Mrs. Bowditch was one of those women 
who are of no possible use in a sick room, but rather a 
nuisance, so he did not urge the matter. 

When he came home at night, she was evidently so much 
worse, that he no longer asked her permission, but sent at 
once for the doctor. Mrs. Gladstone did not receive him 
very cordially, but the doctor had his own ways and means 
of arriving at knowledge. 

“What are you going to do for help? ’’was the first 
question he asked, on rejoining Abraham in the sitting- 
room. “She’ll have to lie where she is for a month, at least, 
and she’ll want more care than that child can give her.” 

Abraham saw his opportunity. He remembered per- 
fectly the impression which Rebecca had produced upon 
him, and he felt some personal repugnance to exposing the 
unhappiness of his domestic relations to a woman of her 
delicate perceptions ; but this was not a time to think of 
himself. 

“ Do you suppose,” he asked, “ that it would be possible 


A woman’s secret. 


149 


to induce Mrs. Darrell to part with her nurse for a few 
weeks ? ” 

The doctor was sitting by the fire. He looked thought- 
ful, whistled a little, rubbed his hands together slowly. 

“ I — don’t — know,” he said at last. “ What made you 
think of Rebecca?” 

“ Help is very scarce, you know, and Mrs. Gladstone is 
very particular. She has heard that Rebecca, if that is 
her name, is an excellent and trusty woman, and, in a case 
like this, where the nurse will be in effect housekeeper also, 
it is of consequence to have a faithful person.” 

“Rebecca — is — ^just — what — you — want. I’ll speak 
to Laura about it. Can’t tell what she’ll say. Women 
are set in their ways. I’ll speak to her.” 

Abraham expressed his sense of obligation, and the 
doctor left. 

“If that woman is determined to kill herself,” solilo- 
quized the doctor, as he untied the old gray, “ I don’t 
know as I can help it. I suppose I must do what I can, but 
I’m afraid she has dipped a little too deep, this time. She 
beats Death all out, and Dr. Hornbook was a boy to her.” 

This was just at the time of the January thaw. The 
roads were very slushy, and the doctor had driven far that 
day. When he at last reached home, he was constrained 
to see, with his own eyes, that the old gray had an extra 
quart of oats, and a good bed. 

“ Not that Joel ever neglects her,” said the doctor. “Joel 
is faithful. I like a faithful person ; I won’t have anybody 
but a faithful person about me, if I can help it. Joel is 
faithful ; but, then, I ileep better if I see to these things 
myself.” 

As he went about his work, he meditated : 

“Rebecca needs a change. She is getting uneasy, and 
it is natural that she should. She ought to be taking a 
a different position from that of a nurse-girl. She is a very 


150 


A woman’s secret. 


capable woman. If she gets out into the world, people 
will find it out, and respect her accordingly. She had 
better go to Gladstone’ 

It was past eight o’clock when the doctor reached Mrs. 
Darrell’s house, to do the promised errand. 

The children were out of the way, and Ralph and Laura 
sat in their pleasant library ; she sewing, he reading aloud, 
the picture of domestic comfort and happiness. It put 
the doctor in his best humor to see them. 

“Laura,” he said, after a few minutes of desultory chat, 
“what are you going to do with Maude this spring; she 
looks pale; she’s studying too hard. She must get some 
let-up some way?” 

“I know she is studying hard, but I had not thought it 
was injuring her,” said Laura. 

“Does she sleep well nights?” 

“ I believe I have heard her complain of being wakeful 
at times.” 

“ Eat her breakfast well ? ” 

“She takes a cup of coffee and slice of toast usually; 
not always, though.” 

“Humph ! ” said the doctor, “ I thought so. A red spot 
on her cheek about all the time.” 

“She’s growing pretty fast, I know,” said Laura, 
thoughtfully. 

“ She’s just at the growing age. If you take my advice, 
you won’t send her to school next summer. Keep her at 
home a few months; it won’t hurt her.” 

“I always have meant,” said Laura, “to give Maude a 
thorough domestic training, but what with her studies at 
school and her music at home, I have never thought she had 
time for it. 

“Row is your time,” said the doctor. “Light exercise 
is just what she needs; not too much of one kind, not too 
long continued, but exercise enough to give her muscles 


A woman’s secret. 


151 


play, and get the blood down from her brain. She has 
the headache now every day. Don’t take her out of 
school quite yet, if she wants to linish her term; but insist 
that she shan’t study all the time. Let her set the tea- 
table and undress the children; and be sure that she has 
an hour of good air and some kind of light work before 
breakfast every day. She’ll eat a slice of meat after it.” 

“I believe we are all getting lazy,” said Mrs. Darrell, 
laughing, “ Rebecca is so thoughtful and so attentive to 
all the details of her work.” 

“H’m,” said the doctor, “are you calculating to keep 
Rebecca always?” 

Mrs. Darrell looked up a little curious. There was some- 
thing in the doctor’s tone she didnotquite understand. 

“Because,” he continued, “I know a man that wants 
to get her. He needs her more than you do. It seems to 
me that you are strong enough now, so that with a little 
help from Maude, you could get on with Nancy very well. 
What do you think?” 

“ Why, if Reba can do better than to stay here, I shall 
be very willing; but I shall miss her.” 

“Now, doctor,” interposed Ralph, “that is not fair. Ever 
since we have kept help at all, we’ve been worried to 
death to get good girls ; and now that we have got one, and 
have her wonted, I think the least our friends can do is to 
let her alone.” 

The doctor whistled a little. 

“Abraham Gladstone’s wife is very sick,” he said; “if 
she don’t have good care — good care,” he repeated, “she 
won’t get through the spring. I shouldn’t like to see her 
get a cough in February. It would look bad — look bad. 
I think Rebecca can do more good there than she can 
here.” 

“ Oh, if it is a case of sickness,” said Mr. Darrell, “that 
is another thing.” 


152 


A woman’s secret. 


“ I will call Reba,” said Mrs. Darrell, “ and see wbat she 
says about it.” 

A strange feeling came over Rebecca, as she listened to 
the proposition. She had waited so long for a broader 
outlook. W as this the answer to her prayer ? To attend 
a sick woman; a woman who, at her best, had been 
described to her as peculiar and unlovely; who, therefore, 
when irritated by illness, would be likely to be peevish, 
fault-finding, hard to please. At first view, she was 
inclined to shrink. But the inward voice which we all 
believe in, but all so much neglect, whispered an admoni- 
tion, and she paused. 

“I have deliberately chosen to do a woman’s work in 
the world,” she said to herself, “to cultivate womanly 
excellencies, to achieve womanly triumphs. What fitter 
scene for all these than the sick room?” She rendered 
her decision in a most womanly fashion. Looking up to 
the doctor, who stood, ready to go, waiting only her word ; 
and thinking how true a friend he had been to her, her 
nature proved its loyalty. 

“ Shall I go ? ” she asked. 

He felt the confidence implied, and answered in his 
gentlest tone: 

“ I think you had better, Rebecca.” 

The question was settled. It was a good while before 
Rebecca composed herself to sleep that night. This 
change, which she foresaw must be followed by others, 
was a new test of her power of self-dependence. 

“ I have grown to feel so much at home here,” she said 
to herself. “ A woman is, in these material things, a sort 
of parasite, after all. She grows by what she clings to. 
She is happy or not, according to whether her conditions 
are suited to her nature, and that nature is, in a great 
degree, passive. How shall I find a change to agree with 
me ? This change of all.” 


A woman’s secret. 


153 


It seemed doubtful, but when the word of the Lord 
cam*# to Moses, saying; “ Go, thou and my people,” there 
was no possibility for Israel to stay behind. So, often in 
our lives we deliberate most over just those courses of 
conduct which, if we only knew it, are most inevitable. 
The consolation is, that to Him who controls us, all 
courses^ whether through the wilderness and the stony 
ground, or through green pastures and by still waters ; 
whether down the dark ravines of error, or over the sun- 
swept mevntains of vision, lead in the end to Him. 


154 


A 'woman’s secret. 


XVI. 

kisN-pjEckEt). 

Mrs. Gladstone’s face, lying upon the heavy pillows of 
her handsome bed, and encircled by dainty lace-trimmed 
ruffles, had a pinched and meager look, that was pitiful 
to behold. She suffered, no doubt; it could not be other- 
wise ; but that was not the worst. It was that she had so 
little womanly faith, and patience, and fortitude wherewith 
to bear her suffering. Her life had been spent for herself, 
and not for others ; the gratification of her own desires had 
been the sole end and aim of her existence. The grand 
foundation stones of justice, honor, truth and love, were 
entirely wanting in the basis of her character. Therefore, 
the weak, unstable fabric which she had reared gaped 
and tottered, and threatened utter ruin. 

Rebecca, looking at her, hearing her feeble moan, watch- 
ing her suspicions glances, and feeling her utter want of 
courage, or confidence, or trust, said to herself: 

“ May God forgive me, if it is wrong, but I cannot do 
otherwise than pray the Pharisee’s prayer, ‘ I thank God I 
am not like this woman.’ Welcome suffering, welcome 
disgrace, welcome wearing labor for my daily bread, but 
never let me experience such spiritual poverty, such utter 
dearth of all tenderness and faith. ” 

The two women were not unlike, in some of their char- 
acteristics. They were both delicate in their instincts, 
refined in their tastes; they had, neither of them, the 
strength or the confidence for great undertakings, for any- 
thing akin to masculine enterprises ; they both felt more 
than most, even of women, the very womanly need of 
being cared for, and placed in a secure position, above 
the sordid, selfish clashing of that material life in which 


A woman’s secret. 


155 


men are the proper and principal actors. But there was 
a broad, deep, underlying distinction between them. The 
one had a clear, far-reaching, spiritual intuition and trust, 
the other was scarcely at all conscious of spiritual light or 
insight. Spiritually, she was as feeble and purblind as a 
nine-days-old kitten. The one was all alive, and thrilling 
with tenderness and pure womanly affection ; the other 
was emotionally as withered and dry as a husk. The 
one had been, all her life, the sport and toy of suffering ; 
the other had made her whole life a constant exaction upon 
others, and had gained a certain sort of ease and luxury 
in that way. With spiritual culture, as with material, it is 
the deep subsoiling, and not the mere surface-scratching, 
which produces rich results. 

As the days passed, Mrs. Gladstone’s condition became 
less and less encouraging. 

“ If there was anything to build on,” said the doctor. 
“ we could do something ; but she don’t seem to have any 
constitution. Medicine don’t work if there is no reactive 
povrer in the system, and that seems to be pretty much 
her case.” 

But the reactive power of the system, what is it? Is it 
flesh, or blood, or bone, or is it the spiritual force which 
gives to all these their life? Women, as a general thing, 
have more power of endurance than men ; will actually live 
through more physical suffering, and come out less reduced 
in the end, because they have deeper faith,' and patience, 
and courage, and love. This woman was an exception, 
just because she lacked these womanly qualities. There- 
fore she lay upon her bed, white, passive, helpless ; the 
vital forces slowly spending themselves, and no grand, 
rousing, noble instincts in her, no thought of husband or 
children, of good deeds that must be done, of sad souls 
that needed her ministrations, to turn the tide. 

Mrs. Bowditch came in every day to see her. She some- 


156 


A woman’s secret. 


times brought her knitting, always her snuff box, and the 
latter, at least, was kept in pretty constant requisition. 
As she sat by the bedside, a little, dry, withered, yellow 
woman, with black, bead-like eyes, a tawdry cap, and a 
shabby, faded gown, that had once been showy, if not 
elegant, she was the best possible explanation of her daugh- 
ter’s condition, both physical and mental. 

“ It’s a dreadful thing, Melissa, for you to be sick this 
way. I can’t see what Providence means by it. Here’s 
your household left to the care of strangers, and every- 
thing going to rack and ruin, I hav’n’t the leastest doubt, 
and you getting no better. I must say, I think it is a very 
mysterious dispensation.” 

Melissa moved uneasily in her bed, and moaned. 

“ Where’s Echo ? ” she asked. 

“ I sent Hepsey out in the yard with him, to give him a 
little air. I thought he had been mewed up here with you 
long enough. Hepsey’ll be careful of him, for I told her 
if she wasn’t, I’d punish her.” 

“ What is Rebecca doing ? ” 

“Oh! she’s seeing to the ironing. Do you know, I 
don’t like her ways a bit. She hasn’t folded the clothes 
anyways as I should, and I told her so. The pillow cases 
never’ll be done up to suit you.” 

Melissa groaned feebly, almost inaudibly, and turned 
her face to the wall. 

“And what do you think,” the old lady went on, “when 
she was out there this morning, tending to your breakfast, 
I heard her telling Hepsey a stoiy. Think of that ! ’Twas 
a fairy story, or something of that kind. They’re thicker’n 
hops, now, and by the time you get about the house again, 
things will be to a pretty pass. Why, how red your cheeks 
are. Ain’t you getting a fever? ” 

At this instant Rebecca came in from the kitchen. Her 
quick eye noticed at once the change in the patient. 


A woman’s secret. 


157 


“ I am afraid,” she said, gently, “ that you have been 
talking too much. Perhaps she^ad better be left alone for 
a little while, Mrs. Bowditch, as the doctor was very par- 
ticular about her being kept quiet. I will bathe her head, 
and then I think she will, maybe, be able to sleep.” 

There was something in Rebecca’s mild, but firm way of 
speaking, that inspired respect; and Mrs. Bowditch, with 
no further demonstration than a slight toss of the head, 
withdrew to the sitting-room. Hitherto Rebecca’s pres- 
ence had insensibly produced a very quieting effect upon 
Mrs. Gladstone’s nerves, but to-day the spell seemed to 
have departed. The more she tried to soothe and make 
her comfortable, the more uneasy the patient seemed to 
grow; till at length she refrained from effort, and arranging 
the curtains so as to deepen the shadows of the already 
darkened room, she went out. 

When Mr. Gladstone came in from the office, and opened 
the door softly, he found that she was still awake, and 
approached the bed to speak to her. 

Whatever of coldness or impatience Abraham might 
have felt toward his wife at various times had vanished, 
now that she lay helpless and suffering before him. With 
all the delicacy, and tenderness, and susceptibility to injury 
or shock, which inhere in true conjugal love, there is also 
a tenacity, an indestructibility of fiber, which of itself 
furnishes a stronger argument than any array of social 
facts and statistics against license, in the matter of annul- 
ling the marriage bond. His wife was the love of his 
youth. About her all the rosy sentiment and the airy 
aspirations of his early days had clustered. In all the trials 
of his manhood, she had been — in a poor, meager way, it 
is true, but still she had been — a sharer. If, in the wear 
and tear of life, some portions of the tender romance, or 
even of the manly respect which he had cherished, had 
worn away, there was still left an early memory that was 


158 


A woman’s secret. 


very potent. It might slumber while she was well and 
active, and walked on her way beside him, not apparently 
needing so much of him, as he of her ; but now that she 
was ill and helpless, and so sad and hopeless, too, there 
seemed an awakening of the old tenderness; and he loved 
her as he had not been conscious of doing in all the years 
of her health and buoyancy. 

“Melissa,” he said, stooping to kiss her, “how do you 
feel to-day?” 

“No better. I’m afraid,” she said. 

“Why, you even seem worse, I think. Has anything 
happened?” 

“Not much. I wish, Abraham, you’d count the spoons 
to-day, and see that there’s none missing.” 

“ Oh ! you needn’t be troubled about that, dear. 
Rebecca is very faithful. I’m sure nobody could do 
better than she does, except, of course, yourself. I hope 
it will not be many weeks till you can take her place ; but 
till then I’m sure you needn’t have a thought about the 
house.” 

“You’ve seen very little of her yet.” 

“But then Mrs. Darrell recommended her very highly.” 

“She hadn’t the chance there that she has here.” 

“Well, dear. I’ll count the silver, and I’ll do everything 
I can to see that things go on right, only don’t you fret. 
It is worse for you than anything else.” 

She turned her face to the wall, and closed her eyes. 
He sat by her, fanning her gently, and thinking — what ? 
Who knows what a man thinks, when he patiently tries 
to love what is not lovely ; when he strives to embrace a 
shadow; to take to his heart of hearts a vapor? Yet, in 
this case, the persistence had about it something that was 
infinitely tender and touching. 

Abraham went out into the kitchen after dinner, and 
said to Reba : 


A woman’s secret. 


159 


“Rebecca, Mrs. Gladstone, like any good housekeeper, 
— and she always was a good honsekeeper, you can see 
that yourself — gets nervous about the way things are 
going. Ilepsey is careless ; girls of her age all are, and 
it isn’t exactly your place to see to things — at least, you 
can hardly be expected to do everything; and would you 
mind if I looked over the silver basket, just to set hei 
mind easy. 1 assure you I don’t care a straw about it 
myself.” 

Rebecca felt that he was sincere in what he said, and 
yielded with alacrity. She was a little puzzled about Mr. 
Gladstone. 3Irs. Gladstone, indeed, was a very dark 
riddle to her. Day by day, as she settled some one thino 
in regard to her, the experience of the next day unsettled 
it. If a three thousand year old mummy should come to 
life in this nineteenth century, in the midst of one of oui 
highly civilized homes, it might be a good while before — 
indeed, it is doubtful if ever, the inmates of that home 
would come to an exact understanding of the soul thuf 
revealed. Just so dark, so mysterious, so utterly removed 
from the plane of her own experience or sympathy, did 
Mrs. Gladstone seem to Rebecca. But Mr. Gladstone. 
That was another matter. 

He was a handsome man, to begin with; a most power- 
ful and manly looking man, with a frank, open face, a 
pleasant, smiling eye, a chivalrous demeanor; he had, 
evidently, good natural abilities and more than average 
cultivation. And yet, dark mystery that it was how 
such a thing could be, it seemed to her to grow, day by 
day, more certain that he was — that baleful thing — a 
hen-pecked husband. 

Here and now I make a stand in favor of hen-pecked 
husbands, and aver that the number of them is greater 
than the world supposes. I insist that the man who is 
hen-pecked, is usually so because of some tender, loyal, 


160 


A woman’s secret. 


chivalrous trait; some faint, spiritual insight, by which he 
recognizes the dignity of the ideal woman, and will by no 
means, in ever so gentle a way, lay violent hands on its 
weakest representative. Such men, under favorable cir- 
cumstances, make the noblest and truest of husbands. 
Therefore, I say that the woman who aspires to usurp 
noticeable and unseemly authority over her husband, 
wounds not the honor of the male sex so deeply as that 
of her own, and ought always and everywhere to be held, 
by women especially, in righteous abomination. 

In Mr. Gladstone, Rebecca saw the noblest and man- 
liest qualities; yet, seeing also this other fact of how 
he was led by the nose by this weak, shrewish wife 
of his, she contracted a very stiff little prejudice against 
him. 

“I suppose,” she thought to herself, “ he will be delving 
among the pots and kettles every day of his life, and 
there will be no peace in the kitchen, unless all my lady’s 
whims are duly observed there. Very well, if he is used 
to that system, I am not; and it is just possible that there 
may be a collision some day.” 

But it was not about the pots and kettles that the col- 
lision came. 

Mrs. Gladstone feeling in the humor for sleep one morn- 
ing during the hour of Mrs. Bowditch’s regular visitation, 
that lady took her knitting-work into the kitchen, where 
Rebecca was attending to the dinner. Mrs. Bowditch 
was in a sociable mood. 

“You never told me,” she said to Reba, “where you 
came from.” 

“ I was born in Pennsylvania,” replied Reba, after a little 
hesitation. 

“ W as you, now ? Why, I’ve got friends in Pennsylvania, 
too. But it’s a big State. What part of Pennsylvania 
did you come from? 


A woman’s secret. 


161 


“ The eastern part.” 

“ Why, that’s just where my friends live. Was it near 
Philadelphia?” 

“ Rather. Where did you say your friends lived?” 

“ Oh ! I’ve got ’em all about in those parts. You see, 
my mother was a Strouse, and my father’s name was Hand, 
and the Strouses and the Hands are all scattered over that 
country; especially the Strouses. Now, if you can tell 
me where you lived, it’s ten to one but I know somebody 
in the same town.” 

“ I was born in Pennsylvania, as I said, but my parents 
moved away from there when I was about two years old.” 

“ Oh-h ! ” said Mrs. Bowditch, “ then you never lived in 
Pennsylvania.” 

Heretofore, Mrs. Bowditch had been simply garrulous ; 
from this moment she became inquisitive ; if this woman 
had any secret, it would go hard, but she would have a twist 
at it. She must go to work cautiously and systematically. 

“ Where did you come from, when you came here ? ” 

“From New York.” 

“ Have you got friends there ? ” 

Rebecca was getting annoyed, and found it convenient 
to get away from this unscrupulous inquisition. 

“ I think, Mrs. Bowditch, you will have to excuse nie for 
a little while. I believe there is nothing here now but what 
Hepsey can see to, and I have a bit of sewing up stairs, 
which must be done as I get the opportunity.” 

So saying, she left the room. 

“ Humph ! ” said Mrs. Bowditch, “ I understand all that. 
But she need not think she can get away from me so. No 
need to worry; there’ll be other days.” 

However, when Mr. Gladstone came in to dinner, Mrs. 
Bowditch found an opportunity to say to him : 

“Abraham, do you know who that woman is, in the 
kitchen ? ” 

G3 


162 


A woman’s secret. 


“No,” he replied, carelessly, “I’m sure I don’t know 
any more about her than what I see. She seems to be a 
faithful, efficient woman, of better breeding than most of 
her class.” 

“Yes, but who is she? that’s the question. Honest 
folks don’t mind telling where they come from.” 

Mr. Gladstone knew too well the disposition of his 
mother-in-law, not to be certain that she had been teazing 
Rebecca with questions ; and he had now and then caught 
a ray from Rebecca’s brown eyes which made him certain 
that she was not a person to be annoyed with entire 
impunity. Therefore, he only thought, with a smile, that 
the old lady had met a retort that chagrined her, and so 
dismissed the matter. But the pertinacity of this kind of 
woman is something wonderful to behold. 

After dinner she went directly to Melissa. 

“Mellie,” she said, “ do you know. I’ve good reason for 
thinking this woman you’ve got is no better than she 
ought to be. Think of that, and you sick, and Abraham 
exposed to temptation.” 

It was just the kind of shot to tell with immense effect 
upon a woman of Melissa’s temperament. At night Abra- 
ham was called into the sick room, to endure a severe 
cross questioning. 

AYho was this woman — where did she come from — 
what character had she hitherto borne? To all of which 
Abraham could only answer that he did not know, and did 
not like to ask. 

“Just set your mind at rest, Melissa,” he said. “I’m a 
better judge of women than your mother, and I’ll answer 
for this one, that she is all right.” 

Melissa turned her face to the wall, and gave a small 
groan. 

“ Well,” asked Abraham, a little impatiently, “what am 
I to do about it ? ” 


A woman’s secret. 


163 


Melissa was still silent. 

“ If the woman is averse to answering questions, I don’t 
want to make a pettifogger of myself, and bore her to 
death.” 

Still no answer, and Abraham, in despair, left the room. 
But when he came back at bedtime, it was no better. 
Melissa was still speechless, and the air was fragrant with 
abused innocence. Abraham had formed a little resolu- 
tion of his own, however, and tried the virtue of silence 
himself. 

The next morning Melissa was decidedly worse. She 
had a fainting fit, and came out of it only to go into hys- 
terics; and what with fanning her, and bathing her head 
with cologne, and opening the window for air, and shutting 
it, for fear of a draught, he did not get to his office at all; 
by which means some very important business was neg- 
lected. It went on much after this fashion for a week. 
At last Abraham relented a little in his manner. Mrs. 
Gladstone saw that he was brought to terms, but it 
required three days more of sinking turns and hysterics, 
before she judged him to be sufficiently punished for his 
contumacy. 

Rebecca was a silent witness of the whole process. 

“Well,” she thought to herself, “if men like this kind 
of women — women who are not strong minded; women 
who do not talk ; who are leaning in their disposition, viny 
women, clinging to oaks, that is, men, for support — I do not 
know any good reason why they should not have them. I 
wish them much joy of them. If I was a man, I think I 
should quite as lief have a wife that could stand alone.” 

And then came that deeper, sadder feeling, which every 
true woman experiences, when she sees ruin of the noblest 
attributes. Why will men persist in setting the standard 
of female excellence so low ? Why will they keep the whole 
sex so in leading strings that they cannot rise into their 


164 


A woman’s secret. 


native proportions, and be the blessing to themselves and 
to men, which their Creator designed them to be ? 

The result of this application of Melissa’s tendrils to 
her supporting oak was, that Abraham came out into the 
sitting-room, one evening, where Rebecca was sewing, and 
sat down with a look of fixed determination in his face, 
which, however, he tried to veil with an appearance of 
indifierence. 

Rebecca had not ceased to be curious concerning this 
man, and feeling instinctively that he was of too noble a 
nature to be a dangerous inquisitor, she put up no arbitrary 
barriers between them, but strove rather to beguile him 
into easy and unrestrained conversation. Mr. Gladstone 
very soon felt himself yielding to her quietly genial 
influence, but he was not the man to lose sight of his 
purpose, however difiicult her refined and lady-like manner 
might make his prosecution of it. 

“So you don’t like Wyndham,” he said, in answer to 
some faint criticism which his questions had drawn forth. 
“I suppose it is a sharp change from that rolling, easy- 
going country around Philadelphia. I think some one 
told me you were from that section of the country.” 

“Oh!” she said, “I am already a cosmopolite, and 
view nothing by comparison. Wyndham is to me to-day 
as if I had lived in it always.” 

“Pardon me,” he said, a little incredulously, “but you 
seem young to have divested yourself of all local sympa- 
thies and attachments.” 

“When one can look back upon no past,” she said, 
“that is not associated with sadness and sorrow, one 
divorces one’s self easily from recollection.” 

“ Again I must disagree with you,” he said. “ Afl^ic- 
tions, I think, oftentimes sanctify our memory of places; 
we go back to past sorrows with more tenderness than to 
joys that are past.” 


A woman’s secret. 


165 


“Yes, but they must be innocent sorrows; afflictions 
which we can naturally refer to the will of Heaven, and 
not to the injustice of men.” 

He looked at her in silence. She was very young to 
utter sentiments like these ; her face was too pure, too 
delicately conscientious, to be naturally associated with 
wrong doing. She seemed too incapable of guile to have 
provoked injury from any being. “It is some family 
trouble,” he said to himself, “into which I should be a 
brute to pry.” And in the light of this thought, the 
mandate of the weak woman in the bed-room beyond lost 
its force. 

“ I suppose,” he said, “ that all trouble, even injustice, 
comes indirectly from Heaven, and must have, in some 
way, its redeeming quality. At least, I have tried to think 
so.” 

“ It would make wreck of my religious faith,” she said, 
“ to believe that all the wrong-doing of men came within 
the scope of God’s providence toward His children. I 
could not trust in Him as a righteous God and father, if 
I thought that he made use of evil in any such way. If 
He makes the wrath of man to praise him, I think it must 
be by the utter overthrow and extirpation of wrong- 
doers.” 

She manifested more energy than he had ever observed 
in her before, and there was a thrilling pathos in her tones 
which came directly from her heart. His consciousness 
lingered over the words as they were spoken ; his memory 
received them indelibly; the time came, years after, when 
he would have given half he possessed to have fathomed 
accurately their full force and meaning. As for Rebecca, 
the years brought her insight, and set straight many of 
her distorted notions of God’s providence. The very 
crimes which then moved so deeply and so justly her fiery 
indignation, she lived to see bearing the fruit which God 


A woman’s secret. 


had ordained; bread of life to the sufferer, and apples oi 
Sodom to the doer. 

When the conversation was concluded, Abraham sat for 
a few minutes in thought. A soul of no ordinary scope 
and beauty had been partially revealed to him. Not that 
this woman was perfect; on the contrary, she was full of 
tender, womanly weaknesses. He felt himself stronger, 
and in the way of worldly wisdom, infinitely wiser than 
she ; but there was, nevertheless, a charm of purity, of 
insight, of heavenly wisdom about her, which transcended 
him, and which he held in reverence. Should he make 
himself an inquisitor concerning the evidently painful 
details of her life. No, not for a kingdom. The truth 
about her was something which he was as far as possible 
from suspecting; but if he had known it all, he would 
have felt not less, but more pity and admiration for her. 

He went back to his wife and said: “Melissa, I have 
asked all the questions that I shall. There is evidently 
something which the woman wishes to conceal, but I am 
more than ever satisfied that she is a virtuous and trust- 
worthy person. I think you have only this choice to 
make: to discharge her at once and no more words about 
it, or to make up your mind to let her alone. You cannot 
find any one else that will serve you half as satisfactorily 
as she does ; but it seems to be worth a good deal to you 
to have your mind at rest, and if you wish I will go and 
engage Mary Crane at once.” 

But Melissa did not wish it. She knew very well that 
she could not get along with Mary Crane. She chose to 
keep Rebecca, and to vent her spleen and jealousy upon 
her in every small, irritating, vexatious way that she 
could. Mr. Gladstone knew it, but he knew also that she 
was slowly dying, and the fact softened his mind to many 
of her mental infirmities. To manifest any sympathy for 
Rebecca, was only to intensify the trials of her position ; 


A woman’s secret. 


16T 


and he refrained from doing so, believing that the deep 
and true respect which he entertained for her, expressed 
itself most forcibly, under the circumstances, by a wise 
and firm reticence. 


168 


A woman’s secret. 


XVII. 

FROM JERUSALEM TO JERICHO. 

February came, and Mrs. Gladstone did get a cough. 
Rebecca’s position, by this time, had grown almost insup- 
portable. Should she give it up, that was the question. 
Mr. Gladstone, partly because his wife was jealous, and 
partly because she was slowly dying before his eyes, and 
the sight recalled all the tenderness of his youth, and 
compelled him to be, spite of her caprice and unrea- 
sonableness, absorbed utterly in the slow going out of 
her life, was entirely indifferent to her. But Mrs. Bow- 
ditch, with the spider-like industry of a small mind, had 
set the village alive with talk about this woman, whom 
nobody knew; who could or would give no account of 
herself ; till every neighbor who happened into the house, 
every friend who came from afar to visit the dying woman, 
even the very minister who called to console her last hours, 
looked askance at Rebecca, and saw in her, or thought 
they saw, some evil. 

The doctor carried a sad face all these days. He had 
been down to 'New York in the fall, as was his usual 
custom. He had not been able to see Mr. Marston, that 
gentleman being out of town; but certain inquiries which 
he had made in another direction, made it probable that, 
whenever he did see him, he might gain the information 
which he sought. For this reason the doctor, without at 
all losing his interest in Rebecca, felt impelled by the 
grave interests at stake to proceed with caution. 

This gossip about her, therefore, was doubly painful to 
him. Rebecca’s sad eyes, unconsciously to herself, 
reproached him each time that he saw her ; and he felt a 


A woman’s secret. 


169 


tender and manly longing to stand by her, and protect her 
at all and every hazard. Indeed, the greatest comfort of 
Rebecca’s life, at that time, was the daily visit of the 
doctor ; for he never left her without a kind inquiry, or a 
pitying glance, or a comforting pressure of the hand. 
Ah! these men who know a woman thoroughly — all her 
weak points, all her tender susceptibilities — are, of all 
others, most dangerous to her peace of mind. 

But the doctor could, at best, only show his good will. 
As he said, “people will talk;” and Rebecca, being very 
human, felt the talk keenly. On the other hand, what 
was duty ? Mrs. Gladstone was dying. She suffered a 
great deal every day and every hour; she needed kind 
and faithful nursing — knew that she needed it; knew 
that there was no one within her reach who could supply 
Rebecca’s place, and, in some silent, dumb way, she 
expressed this dependence, even while she was jealous of 
the object of it. It seems very strange the hold these 
weak, helpless natures have upon nobler ones. I know 
of no way of accounting for it, except by referring it to 
nature’s care for her feeblest works; but so it was, that 
Mrs. Gladstone’s helpless clinging was a cord strong 
enough to bind Rebecca, as it bound her husband, to the 
most unreasoning docility. She bore, out of pity, not 
unmixed with contempt, what she would never have 
borne from one she felt to be her equal. 

Again and again Mrs. Darrell offered her the refuge of 
her old place with her; again and again she refused it. 
“ They may abuse me, if they like,” she said, “ but they 
need me, and I shall stay as long as I can do them any 
good. One thing, however, you can do for me. If you 
hear of any good place which you think I can fill, secure 
it for me against the time I shall need it.” And Mrs 
Darrell promised. 

The winter wore away, and spring came. March, at 
H 


170 


A woman’s secret. 


least, which wears a name it never truly won. Mrs. Glad 
stone had been sinking very fast in what is called “a 
decline a sort of rapid consumption. It was doubtful 
now if she would not go out before the first violets 
came in. 

One windy March day her pastor came; for, recently, 
since the spiritual world had seemed to be so swiftly 
bearing down upon her, the feeble soul had put forth 
some faint feelers toward it, and cherished a trembling 
hope which stretched out into the great Hereafter. He 
conversed with her solemnly and tenderiy, prayed with her, 
and finally left her. 

After he had gone, her husband sat by her bedside, 
fanning her. 

“Abraham,” she said faintly — her voice was almost a 
whisper now — “there is one thing more I would like to 
speak about. What will become of my things — ray 
dresses?” 

“I shall do whatever you direct with them,” said Mr. 
Gladstone. 

“ I don’t care so much for any of them but my blue silk 
with the flounce. I should like to know who is going to 
have that. I never wore it but once, you know.” 

“Whom would you like to have it?” 

“ I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” 

She had no sister, no daughter, no friend. Her mother 
was in mourning. Who, indeed, should inherit that 
darling treasure? 

It was, perhaps, a week later. She had wasted rapidly; 
it was very evident that the end was near. All day she 
had been watched, lest her life should go out unknown to 
them, and now it was far into the night. There had been 
nothing more said about the blue silk dress, and Abraham, 
thinking over all the last things that ought to be said, was 
some way reminded of it. 


A woman’s secret. 


171 


“Melissa,” he said, “you have never told me what you 
wanted done with your blue silk dress.” 

She gave no answer but a feeble moan, and turned her 
face to the wall — for the last time. A half hour later, a 
slight tremor ran over her frame, and before they could 
raise her head, the spirit had departed. 

I think God’s angels caught up that soul out of the 
great dark into which it was exhaled, and bore it with trem- 
bling pity into the Eternal Presence. She had lived through 
the earth-life, but had gathered so few of its blessings. She 
had dwelt in the regions of blindness and selfish bewilder- 
ment, and had never known the finer air and purer light 
of that uj^per country, where love and right-doing make, 
even on earth, so cheerful a Beulah. Tenderness, boun- 
tifulness, aspiration, faith, what were they but words to 
her. Ah ! surely for such souls as these, more than for 
earth’s stricken ones, do the angels drop pitying tears. 

When she was gone, a great sense of freedom swept 
through the house. Abraham felt it, almost before she 
was buried. He could but feel it. For five years that 
woman’s feeble whims and unreasonable caprices hid 
made themselves the law of his life. For all that he had 
done for her, what had he received in return? Very little 
of love or tenderness; nothing of counsel, or sympathy, 
or support. She had kept his house neatly, and had given 
him, during years when he most needed the help of a 
good and true wife, the savor, not the substance of a 
home. For so much as he had received, he was truly 
thankful ; and he looked down into her open grave with a 
great heart-pang, and eyes that were wet with honest 
tears. But when he came home, the sunshine was as 
clear as ever to his eyes ; and the tuneful robin that piped 
her quaint “ cheer up ! cheer up! ” from the leafless branch 
of an apple tree by the wayside, woke an answering echo 
in his heart. His sorrow was not inconsolable. 


172 


A woman’s secret. 


Rebecca, too, felt the gladness ot release. When the 
funeral was over, the house was shut up. Abraham went 
to the hotel to board, and Rebecca returned to Mrs. 
Darrell’s. There again she met the great question of 
what to do? 

Mrs. Darrell said, “ stay with us;” but Rebecca said, 
“ no, you do not need me, and I will not, so long as 
I can lielp it, sink into the position of a useless depend- 
ent.” 

And Rebecca was right. Such a person is like the sink 
in a kitchen, the drain ot much of the family decadence 
and refuse. To be sure, the sink, if ill kept, has a revenge: 
it smells. But that is pleasant to no one ; least of all, one 
would think, to the sink. 

Mr. Darrell said: “Come down to the office and I’ll 
make a clerk of you.” 

But Rebecca thought that would be a poor way to 
stop gossiping tongues. It was a hard thing for her to 
stand before these dear friends, to feel herself the butt 
of so many railing accusations, and yet have no word to 
say in self-defense. To Mrs. Darrell, in private, she did 
say: 

“My dear, kind friend, if, looking back over my life, I 
saw anything to blush for ; anything to make me, in the 
eyes of God and his angels, unfit to be the companion of 
yourself and your daughters, I should not be here.” 

And Mrs. Darrell replied: “My dear girl, I am assured 
of it. If ever the time comes that you feel free to speak, 
I shall be glad to hear; till then, let us both keep silence. 
Silence is often a better test of friendship than many 
words.” 

But outside of that family of Greathearts, it is doubtful 
if any one of the many who had witnessed the steadiness 
and excellence of Rebecca’s life, could quite forgive hei* 
this silence ; and many who should have been more tender, 


A woman’s secret. 


173 


railed openly. It was an experience which was calculated to 
test her faith and patience. But she thought of her vision 
of the worlds, and said: 

“I must wait till other lives shape themselves to the 
crises of mine. My time has not yet come and to tell 
the truth, it seemed to be quite in the dark, whether it ever 
would come. But she said to Mrs. Darrell: 

“ I must go away from here. This town is no place for 
me just now.” 

Whereupon the doctor brought forth a suggestion. 

“Laura, Jerry Linscott wants to get somebody to take 
care of his little girl — a sort of half nurse-maid, half 
governess. I don’t think much of governessing, as a 
general thing, but this isn’t a common case. It’s as 
like as not he’d be glad to get Rebecca, if he knew of 
her.” 

“ The very thing,” said Laura. “Mr. Linscott, you know, 
Reba, has a little girl who is a cripple. It is a very 
painful case, and, as he is a widower, he feels the care of 
her very much. His mother keeps house for him, but she 
is quite infirm, and heretofore they hav’n’t been able to 
get just the person they wanted, to take care of Minnie. 
I will writt' liim to-morrow. He is a person of a great deal 
of independence ; and, with the recommendation I shall 
give you, would take you in the teeth of an army of gossips. 
You will have just about a week to rest, and then you will 
be quite ready to go. I wonder why everybody cannot 
have Milton’s ready good sense.” 

The doctor was laughing to himself, bowed over in his 
chair, till his elbow rested on his knee. Rebecca waited 
patiently for an explanation. 

“Jerry Linscott,” said the doctor, who had not, as a 
general thing, any very great reverence for the clergy; 
“Jerry Linscott is a — pret-ty — stiff — man to get along 
with ; but I think you’ll suit him. I never heard him pray 


174 A woman’s secret. 

in my life, that I didn’t think of Burns’ Holy Willie, before 
he got through : 

“ ‘ Yet I am here a chosen sample, 

To show thy grace is great and ample, 

I’m here a pillar in thy temple, 

Strong as a rock, 

A guide, a buckler, an example 
To all thy flock.’” 

The doctor repeated the lines slowly, with great unction. 
Then he continued : 

“ His house, his family, his church, his congregation, 
and, for all I know, his graveyard, are all the best that 
could be. He has made his people believe it, too ; and, if 
he takes a notion to you, as I think he will, there isn’t a 
ram in all Jericho will dare shake his horns at you. But 
lie’s a widower, Rebecca; he’s — a — widower. You’d 
better look out for him.” 

The doctor had not said all that was in his mind, but he 
rose to go. 

In due course of time it was settled that Rebecca should 
go to Jericho. The place lay in a quiet dip of the hills, away 
from the raikoad, but was, nevertheless, for peaceful and 
pastoral beauty, as pretty as one could wish. As the doctor 
had intimated, Mr. Linscott was an oracle among his people, 
and well he might be. To begin with, he was a man of 
family and consideration, and had a handsome little property 
of his own, which eked out the small salary the parish 
paid, in a very acceptable manner. Then, he was a thrifty 
and energetic man. He attended to the church business 
with the most praiseworthy zeal and judgment; in fact, 
almost entirely relieving the deacons of their responsi- 
bility, till the simile for the height of inactivity in the 
country about was : “4 lS lazy as the deacons in Jericho.” 
But, then, the work was always so well done that nobody 
found fault. The church finances were always prosperous ; 
the church poor were always well fed and clothed ; indeed, 


A woman’s secret. 


175 


to be a poor woman, and a member of Mr. Linscott’s 
church, was synonymous with having the cosiest situation 
and the best pay which the town afforded. The church 
repairs were attended to at exactly the right moment. 
Whatever needed zeal and activity was sure not to go 
begging in Jericho. As for Mr. Linscott’s sermons, they 
were staunch and sound — a little Calvinistic perhaps, a 
little too bracing for some of the faint hearted and weak 
kneed among his congregation ; but, nevertheless, consist- 
ing of the very bones and marrow of orthodoxy, and giving 
small comfort to heretics or unbelievers. 

A man of this stamp could not fail to be delighted with 
Rebecca’s faithful and energetic performance of her duties ; 
and old Mrs. Linscott, being a little infirm, albeit she had 
spirit enough left to delight in her son’s constant success — 
for he was bone of her bone, and flesh of her flesh, where 
work was concerned — it soon came to pass that Rebecca 
not only had almost entire charge of Minnie, but of the 
household also. 

It was a pretty house, a little trim and smart looking, 
with its fresh coat of paint each spring, and its dark, 
stately evergreens, in the front yard; but there was a well- 
kept garden, with a honeysuckle arbor at the back of it; 
and, beyond, the meadow sloped down to Still river, ran- 
ning in and out among its beeches. 

On the whole, it was a pleasant home, and Rebecca’s 
life there was a smooth and grateful contrast to her late 
experiences. Minnie proved a tractable enough child; 
and, though her suffering made her a great care, Rebecca 
was womanly enough to be, on that account, all the more 
deeply interested in her. 

In this quiet sphere of usefulness, Rebecca passed three 
years ; years which it suits the purpose of our story to pass 
over lightly. Coming to Jericho recommended by Mrs. 
Darrell, and under the auspices of Mr. Linscott, she was 


176 


A woman’s secret. 


everywhere well received; and it soon became possible for 
her to go back to Wyndham with a good name, which 
should stand her instead of antecedents ; but this she did 
not choose to do. She had leisure and opportunity for 
reading and reflection ; and though, in her outward life, 
she made little progress, her resources of character and 
experience were increasing day by day. With this, for the 
time being, she was content. 


A woman’s secret. 


111 


XYIII. 

AN EMBARRASSED LOVER. 

Soon after Mrs. Gladstone’s death, the doctor went to 
• New York — and saw Mr. Marston. When he came back, 
he had the look of a man who had gotten a blow. If he 
had made any discoveries concerning Rebecca’s history, 
not another soul in Wyndham was the wiser for it; but, 
as he rode over the hills, alone with the old gray, he spoke 
softly to himself : 

“ It is a strange thing, and stranger ones may yet come 
of it. Gladstone admires her; he isn’t in a marrying 
mood now, but he will be in a few years. The time — may 
come when she will want — just — such — a — friend as the 
— old — doctor."''' 

From that time the doctor grew old. He was still the 
same skillful practitioner ; the same grave, wise, cheerful 
man; his old genial humor was no way abated, but there 
was yet an unmistakable look of age about him, which he 
had never worn before. 

But, if the fading of his dream had left a deeper sadness 
in his heart than any life had hitherto brought him, it had 
left also a serener outlook upon the future. If this world 
held little in reserve for him, he had all the more reason to 
commence the work of transferring his hopes and his affec- 
tions to that world to come, which already seemed to 
overshadow him with its glory. The doctor’s wisdom 
evidently embraced the art of growing old gracefully ; for 
now that he really felt age to be upon him, he set about 
borrowing so much of the immortal grace and beauty of 
the next life as should make the decadence of this more 
truly pleasing than its early bloom had been. There was 


178 


A woman’s secret. 


no cant, no affectation, about this; but a simple and 
natural living for large ends; a perpetual giving fdrth of 
wise sympathies and bountiful endeavors; that touched all 
his old friends with a new love, and made strangers stand 
a little abashed in his presence. 

Whatever the cloud that had come between them, it shed 
ho coldness, no abatement of respect upon Rebecca. On 
the contrary, his manner toward her, if a little more 
reticent than of old, seemed also more pitying, more 
determinedly helpful. She felt a change in him, yet it was 
not one which pained her. On the contrary, the new 
phase appealed more powerfully and insidiously to her 
sensibilities than the old. She had made frequent visits 
to Wyndham, during those three years at Mr. Linscott’s, 
and always the friend who seemed to be in an unspeakable 
way nearest to her, and tenderest to her, was the doctor. 
Certainly, if she had a favor to ask, she was sure to take 
it to no other. 

In this very spirit she had said to him once, after a visit 
to Mrs. Moss, during which a fresh batch of troubles, 
between Theodore and his father, had been poured into 
her ear : 

“ Doctor, I do wish you would do something for Theo- 
dore Moss ; he is a reckless fellow, now ; but I think one- 
half of it is owing to his unfortunate position at home. I 
promised his mother once that I would do him a good 
turn if ever I could, and I think the time has come now 
when he really needs it.” 

They were sitting on the doorstep of the doctor’s house, 
little Kitty playing about their knees, and the doctor 
looking from the child’s face to Rebecca’s, with a puzzled, 
speculative look, which annoyed her. She was far from 
suspecting the problem which the doctor was trying to 
solve ; but she was obliged to wait some minutes for his 


answer. 


A woman’s secret. 


179 


“Theodore is a — strange — boy,” said the doctor. “I 
don’t know as there’s anything so very had about him. 
He’s honest — nothing mean about Theodore — but he’s 
headstrong, terribly headstrong. Seems to be cruel, too — 
torments his younger brothers and sisters dreadfully. I 
ain’t certain, yet, how Theodore is coming out. His 
mother’s a pretty fair Avoman. The father don’t amount 
to much — but the mother'' s a pretty fair ^om an. For his 
mother’s sake, I hope he will do well.” 

“ I wish he might have something to awaken his ambi- 
tion,” said Rebecca. “ I wonder if Mr. Darrell couldn’t 
give him a place somewhere, that would challenge his 
self-respect a little.” 

“ Ho — ho ! ” said the doctor ; “ I don’t like to ask favors 
of Ralph Darrell. He is n’t any the more likely to grant 
’em, for being my brother-in-law. He could do it, if he 
chose ; but I don’t want to ask him.” 

The doctor mused, and Rebecca thought he had for- 
gotten all about it. But he broke out, finally, on the same 
subject : 

“I hav’n’t got the power nor the influence that Ralph 
Darrell has. I can’t do much for Theodore ; but, since 
you’ve promised to help him. I’ll tell you Avhat I’ll do. 
He’s fond of horses, and a good rider. How he managed 
to learn so much about horses I don’t know; but he’s 
fond of ’em ; and there isn’t another boy of eighteen, in 
these parts, that can beat him on horse-flesh. I want to 
send my young horse to the fair. I’m going down with 
him myself. I can’t stay all the week ; I’d like to, but my 
business Avon’t let me. I’ll take Theodore doAvn with me, 
and give him the Avhole charge of the horse, after I come 
back. If he does Avell by me. I’ll do Avell by him — and 
I think he will. That will be a start for him. When he 
comes back, maybe something else will turn up. Can’t 
tell — must wait and see.” 


180 


A woman’s secret. 


Rebecca was well pleased, and immediately found an 
opportunity of giving Theodore a hint of good fortune in 
store for him, and an admonition to do his best. 

Theodore went to the State Fair, and by good manage- 
ment succeeded in getting a handsome premium awarded 
to the horse. Coming back to Wyndham, he was quite a 
hero. The doctor bragged about his horse a good deal, 
in a quiet way, and never omitted to give Theodore his full 
share of praise. 

In regard to pay, too, the doctor was liberal. 

“ There, Theodore,” he said, counting out the bills with 
most methodical slowness and exactness. “ There is twen- 
ty-five dollars. I don’t know what you’ll do with it — I 
don’t know what you’ll do with it — but I — hope — you’ll 
make good use of it. It seems to me you might about as 
Avell put it in the bank as anywhere. Why carCt you put 
it in the savings bank, Theodore?” 

“ I shall do better than that with it, doctor,” said Theodore; 
“ and you’ll say so, too, when you see what I mean to do.” 

The doctor didnotask any more questions; but he kept 
a good look-out for Theodore. One day, as he was driving 
past the little brown house of the Mosses, he was surprised 
to see a mason and a carpenter at work there. 

“Ho — ho! ’’said the doctor. “What’s this? — what’s 
this ? ” and he turned his horse’s head toward the gate. 

“ Whoa ! whoa ! whoa ! ” said the doctor, to the old gray, 
very gently; “w-h-o-a! We may as well stop here, and 
see what this means.” 

Moses was flying about, looking important, and Mrs. 
Moss was busy in the kitchen. The doctor entered, as he 
oftenest did without knocking. 

“Good morning — good morning!” said the doctor, 
sitting down in the midst of the confusion which reigned, 
and looking about him quite as if he had a right to look. 
“ Getting your house fixed up, are you, Rachel? ” 


A woman’s secret. 


181 


“Yes, sir,” said Mrs. Moss. “I told Theodore he’d 
better put his money in the Bank, and he said you told him 
the same thing ; but he said I shouldn’t never live in this 
house another winter, without this roof being shingled, 
now he’d got the money to do it. He’s up there at work 
with the shinglers, as happy as a lark. The house had got 
pretty well run down, and I got a dreadful cold, last 
spring, with the rain a-leakin’ in. It will be tight enough 
this winter. Theodore’s going to have it fixed up snug, I 
tell ye.” 

Mrs. Moss was so proud she could scarcely keep from 
crying — so womanly proud of having at last a man to 
take care of her. She stopped, finally, out of breath. 

“Well,” said the doctor, “Theodore hasn’t made a bad 
use of his money. It’s a good sign, when a boy looks out 
for his mother — a good sign. Good morning.” 

It was not a week after that, before Ralph Darrell was 
brought to think that Theodore was a good lad to have 
about a store, and the youth himself was duly installed as 
clerk. 

“ That is the bottom round of the ladder,” said Theo- 
dore to himself. “ Maude Darrell’s brown eyes shine away 
up at the top.” But he never said these words aloud, not 
even to his mother. 

Hot many days later, the doctor took another enter- 
prise in hand, which he had had on his mind for a good 
while. 

One sunny afternoon he found the carriage-house doors 
wide open, and Joel sitting astride a low bench in the 
warm sunshine, oiling the harnesses. The doctor saw 
his opportunity for a little chat with Joel, about his matri- 
monial prospects. He liked a bit of work in his hand, 
almost as well as a woman, particularly if he had anything 
to say. So he sat down upon a convenient box, took a 
piece of flannel and a riding bridle, and began to rub. 


182 


A WOxMAN’c; secret. 


“Joel,” said he, holding the throat-latch up to the sun, 
to see how the work prospered; “Joel, it is time you was 
getting married. You ain’t a boy any longer; your hair 
is getting gray. It is time — you was — getting — mar- 
ried.” 

“ Same to you, sir,” said Joel, with a pleased giggle. 

The doctor looked very grave. 

“ It is different with me,” said the doctor. “ I’ve got a 
family on my hands already. If Joanna had been a well 
woman, and had married, as other girls do, I might have 
thought about marrying, too. But that is neither here nor 
there, Joel. You ought to marry, and I don’t see why you 
don’t. 

“Lord, doctor,” said Joel, looking foolish, but at the 
same time jDleased. “I don’t know as there’s a woman 
anywhere round ’twould have me.” 

“There’s nothing like trying, Joel. It’s coming cold 
weather now ; just the time to get married. If I was in 
your place, I’d get a wife. Lucretia Pepper is a good 
woman. Why — don’t — you — marry — Lucretia? ” 

Joel simpered a little, and replied: 

“ Should, ef ’twant for Nancy.” 

“Well, Nancy’s a good woman, too. Why don’t you 
marry Nancy?” 

Should, ef it ’twant for Creeshy.” 

“ H’m ! h’m ! ” said the doctor, looking very grave, unless 
a twinkle about his eyes might be supposed to denote a 
trifle of humor; and squinting at a martingale as if all his 
mind was intent upon giving that martingale exactly the 
proper degree of lubrication. “ H’m ! Which — one — do 
you — like — best — Joel ? ” 

“Hi! don’t care so very particular for ary of ’em.” 

“ I guess you do, Joel — I guess you do ; only you don’t 
know how to choose. Which one of ’em do you like to 
hiss best?” 


A woman’s secret. 


183 


“Oh ! Lord, doctor !” with innocent aftright. “ T never 
kissed ary one on ’em. I shouldn’t darst to.” 

“Shouldn’t dare to;” (the downward inflection, not 
the upward.) “ Why not ? ” 

“ Oh ! ” they might get mad, you know, and tell on’t. 
’Twouldn’t sound well for a man of my age to be kissing 
a woman.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” said the doctor. They’re both 
Christian women. I guess they wouldn’t tell. If I was in 
your place, I’d try it. It might help you to choose. I 
think it’s time you made a choice. I don’t think it’s right 
to leave them in uncertainty much longer. If I was in 
your place, I’d try to make a choice.” 

Joel thought about it while he was rubbing the entire 
length of a trace, and finally communicated the result of 
his reflections in two words : 

“I WILL.” 

The doctor departed well pleased. Two or three weeks 
passed, and there was nothing further said upon the sub- 
ject. But one day, as the doctor and Joel were getting 
in some garden vegetables together, Joel returned to the 
matter. He was evidently in a good humor, and the doctor 
suspecte.d, by the twinkle of his eyes, what he would say, 
before he opened his mouth. 

“Well, doctor,” said he, “I’ve done it.” 

“Done it — done it,” said the doctor, gravely. “Done 
what ? ” 

“Kissed ’em.” 

“ Oh ! Lucretia and Kancy. Kissed ’em both. Well?” 

“Kancy, she kind o’ snickered, and says she: ‘La! Joel; 
be you a fool? ’but she looked as if she kind o’ liked it.” 

“ How did Lucretia take it ? ” 

“Hi! she just give me a good smart box on the ear, 
and sent me out o’ the kitchen. I tell ye she’s smarts 
she is.” 


184 


A woman’s secret. 


That box on the ear, or something else, seemed to have 
cleared Joel’s vision wonderfully. The doctor saw it, but 
took his own way to bring Joel to confession. 

“So, so,” he said, “I — suppose — you like — Nancy’s — 
way — best.” 

“ Why, doctor, should you ? ” asked Joel, in some 
wonder. 

“ H’m ! ” said the doctor, “ I don’t know. I should be 
afraid, if Lucretia boxed your ears, that she might not be 
very favorable to marriage.” 

“Oh! liord, doctor ; Cree shy came raound arterwards. 
I wa’n’t a grain afeard, never, but what she’d come 
raound.” 

Oh ! you wa’n’t ! ” said the doctor. “What did Lucretia 
say, when she came round?” 

“You see, I told her ’t I wanted to marry her. ’Twas 
coming cold weather, and all that, just as you said. At 
first she said she couldn’t, ’cause she couldn’t never think 
o’ leavin’ Mis’ Gaines without help; but I told her I didn’t 
expect her to leave; no such thing. I wa’n’t so unreason- 
able. She could jest stay right along, and I’d stay, too, 
and it wouldn’t make no difference to nobody but our- 
selves. And then I kind o’ coaxed her, and told her she 
must, and she said, well, then, if she must, she must, she 
s’posed; so that was all about it.” 

“Ho — ho — ho,” said the doctor, meditatively. “Lucre- 
tia has got a good deal of temper, Joel. Do you expect 
to be able always to control her?” 

“La! doctor,” said Joel. “Some folks are afraid of a 
woman, if she’s got the least grain of pluck about her; 
but I tell you, doctor, I’d as lives drive a blind mare, that 
was spavined and wind-galled, as to have a wife that 
hadn’t got no kind o’ lightnin’ in her. I heered a minister 
preach a sermon once about its being the glory of a man 
to keep his wife in good subjection; but. Lord, what 


A woman’s secret. 


185 


chance has a man got to subdue his wife, if she don’t 
nevei* git riled? Them may have the tame ones that likes 
’em, but give me the plucky ones.” 

“That is good — sound — sense — Joel, good sound 
sense,” said the doctor. “I never thought myself that I 
should like a woman too well, that never took the bit in 
her teeth. I’ve seen both kinds of women; a good — many 

— of both kinds, and I never did see a high-strung woman 
that was so hard to manage as some white-livered things, 
that didn’t look as if butter would melt in their mouths. 
It — ain’t — always — the high-strung ones — that — are 

— the worst — to manage. You — may depend — on — 
that — Joel.” 

“There’s my Creeshy,” said Joel, putting on the airs of 
a Benedict already, “ she’ll blow herself all to flitter 
strings in flve minutes, and then she’s as meek as a lamb. 
Now, it takes longer than that to get me started, so I 
don’t think we’re likely to hev a great deal of trouble. 
The wust on’t is, I don’t have no chance to go courtin’, 
livin’ right in the house so.” 

“ That is bad,” said the doctor, sympathizingly, “ pretty 
bad. If I was you, I wouldn’t court long. I’d get mar- 
ried.” 

“ Oh, yes, we’re goin’ to, about Thanksgiving.” 

“ About Thanksgiving. That is a good time,” and so 
the matter was settled. 

The doctor walked ofi* with his head bowed down, and 
a smile lurking around his eyes. 

“ Lucretia won’t abuse Joel,” he said to himself. “ She 
won’t abuse him. I’ll warrant Joel to come out all right. 
I was a little afraid he might take to Nancy. It seemed 
to be — about — nip-and-tuck — with ’em, and I was afraid 
he might take to Nancy, and then he would have got 
uneasy, and I might have lost him. But it is all right 
now; Lucretia will keep him straight.” 

H2 


186 


A woman’s secret. 


The doctor little thought that while he was managing 
this affair in a manner so satisfactory to himself, he was 
also making sure beyond a peradventure, the future hap- 
piness of a woman whom he loved to serve. But so it 
was. By such seemingly insignificant links does fate bind 
together her noblest plans. 

During these three years, Ralph Darrell had been steadily 
prospering in worldly affairs. Still, as of old, his best 
strength, mental and physical, was given to business, and 
Laura, grown wiser by experience, no longer made open 
complaint of ill treatment. 

“It is not the way married, people ought to live,” she 
said. “ This heaping up of wealth by exhausting endea- 
vor, and leaving the tenderest and noblest faculties of 
the mind and heart to rust with disuse, is a sin and a 
shame, which I will never cease to protest against. But 
common sense teaches us that, in this life, marriage, like 
all other institutions which depend upon our imperfect 
human nature for development, must necessarily fall below 
our ideal standard of perfection. And while this fact 
does not in th© least excuse us from striving therein for a 
nearer and nearer approach to that standard, it does 
empliatically condemn that growing restlessness in mar- 
riage bonds which seems to be the curse attendant upon the 
dissemination of free thought in these matters. It is true, 
now as of old, that what God hath joined together, it is 
for no man to put asunder; and not Ralph Darrell himself, 
so long as he fulfills, in any way, the terms of the marriage 
contract, shall divorce my love from him. If he is tempted, 
it is for me to be his better angel, and rob the tempter of 
whatever force I may.” 

And so she labored, year after year, to make the air of 
home pure, and genial, and exhilarating; to throw around 
her husband every tie and every influence which should 
counteract the tendency of his nature to worldliness and 


A woman’s secret. 


18T 


materiality, and win him to the nobler and purer uses of 
life. And, year by year, she did gain ground, little by 
little, though he himself scarcely knew it. Things spir- 
itual grew to him to have a deeper meaning, and he 
reverenced them more and more, because they were so 
beautifully embodied in his wife’s pure life. 

This house, during all these three years, had been a 
home to Rebecca, to which she was always welcomed 
with joy, and which she always left with regret. She 
kept her interest in, and love for, the children, and 
watched over their growing development with the fond- 
ness of an older sister. One winter evening, during a 
visit there, and Mrs. Darrell both went out for a call; 
leaving Rebecca with the children in the parlor, assisting 
Maude with her Latin, and overlooking Evelyn’s drawing. 
Presently Mr. Gladstone came in. 

“Am I intruding. Miss Maude?” he asked. “The 
servant told me that your mamma was not at home, so I 
came in to see you and Eva.” 

Maude rose with a blush and gave him welcome, and 
then he gravely greeted Rebecca. It was the lirst time 
they had met since she had left his house, and there was 
a trifle of embarrassment on the part of both. 

“Don’t let me interrupt your employments,” he said, 
taking up the book which Maude had laid down. “What, 
reading Virgil?” 

“Yes, Miss Reba is so kind as to assist me with my 
lesson. I am not so brilliant at Latin as my mother’s 
daughter ought to be.” 

Mr. Gladstone made some gallant reply, his thoughts, 
meantime, preoccupied with this strange and perpetually 
recurring enigma of a child’s nurse, who read Virgil, and 
had'the manners of a lady. A little of that curiosity, 
which is inseparable from the masculine organization, 
where a woman of unknown antecedents is concerned, 


188 


A woman’s secret. 


broke out in Mr. Gladstone. He had not forgotten his 
encounter with her of old, and did not mean to renew it; 
but in a quiet way he began to make advances toward a 
farther acquaintance. 

“You are fond of the classics, Miss March?” he asked. 

“Yes, rather, though my knowledge of them is now a 
thing of the past. 

“ The literature of the day is so voluminous that one 
finds little time to go back to the stateliness of antiquity. 
How very solid and substantial things seem to have been 
in those old days. So little of the stir and ferment of our 
times about them.” 

“Yet, the last days of the empire, the breaking down 
of the old civilization, and the making ready for the new, 
must have engendered elements of discord quite as 
restless and fierce as any strife of to-day. I think it 
is remoteness in time which gives to those days their 
appearance of grand statuesque calm.” 

Mr. Gladstone eyed the speaker closely, a smile lingering 
about the corners of his mouth. It was a new thing for 
him to hear a refined and delicate woman express herself 
in this wise. A learned woman was something which he 
had always hitherto held rather in contempt; not because 
of the learning, but because, in his mind, the idea was 
associated wdth a masculine want of refinement and 
delicacy. Mr. Gladstone was too true a man not to feel 
instinctively that the attributes of womanhood form a 
crown of distinction with which no intellectual laurels 
can vie. But a delicate, womanly being, who could yet 
offer to a man intellectual companionship, might not be 
so undesirable a character. 

“ Her learning is probably shallow,” he thought. 
“Women are not naturally intellectual beings. It is, on 
the whole, a blessing that they are not; but the worst that 
can befall, is when one of them takes to herself airs of 


A woman’s secret. 


189 


pedantry, and either utters sounding jjlatitudes and com- 
monplaces, or betrays herself into blunders at every step.” 

He went on talking with Rebecca, but, instead of 
verifying his mental predictions, she proved herself 
original, piquant, sincere. Her talk was so unlike that of 
any man, that he was forced to admit that it was 
thoroughly womanly; yet she betrayed an intuitive per- 
ception, and a quick, inventive genius, that quite removed 
from her the charge of superficiality. 

“ Miss Maude,” he said at length, Rebecca having left 
the room for a moment, “I esteem you very fortunate in 
having so wise a helper in your studies. I am quite 
amazed that your mamma does not secure her at once as 
your governess.” 

“ Oh ! we should all be delighted with such an arrange- 
ment,” said Maude, “but Rebecca will not be a governess.” 

“Indeed ! why not?” said Mr. Gladstone, feeling a deep- 
ening curiosity concerning this strange specimen of her 
sex. 

“I hardly know her reasons,” said Maude; “but I have 
heard her say, that so long as the profession of teaching 
was so crowded, she would prefer doing something for 
which there were fewer competitors. Rebecca has such 
odd, conscientious ways,” added Maude; “but mamma 
respects her very highly.” 

“Verily,” thought Mr. Gladstone, as he left the house, 
“ as in the days of Paul, the world is being turned upside 
down. If, to us politicians and outside lookers-on, it 
sometimes seems quite akin to the seething ‘bubble, 
bubble, toil and trouble,’ of Macbeth’s witches, it is cer- 
tainly a good omen when the confusion of the times turns 
out such a charming, perplexing, fascinating little enigma 
as Miss Rebecca March.” 

And then his thought slipped away from this half hour 
of healthful recreation which he had just enjoyed, and 


190 


A woman’s secret. 


took up again the knotty problems of his daily life ; put 
on the strong harness of labor, and till midnight wrought 
valiantly at its year long task of winning a safe vantage- 
ground for the soul, its master. 

As for Rebecca, while she recognized the innate nobility 
of the man, she said to herself : 

“He has no true idea of a woman’s worth and dignity. 
How should he have, indeed, having lived so long with 
that strangely weak creature, his wife ? Still, I do not 
like to talk to him ; I am thankful that our ways in life do 
not lie near each other. I feel out of sympathy with him, 
and am always disturbed by meeting him. And yet, 
somehow, he is not an ordinary man.” 


A woman’s secret. 


191 


XIX. 

A CHAPTER WHICH WEAK-MINDED PEOPLE ARE ADVISED 
TO SKIP. 

Spring had come about for the third time since Rebecca 
had gone to Mr. Linscott’s, and that gentleman, finding 
how useful, and, withal, agreeable a member of his family 
circle she had become, began to think of making the 
arrangement permanent. At first, the uncertainty envel- 
oping her history had made him look very doubtfully upon 
any such schemes, if ever, as is not unlikely, the pleasant 
ray of her brown eye, or the genial warmth of her smile, 
had smitten persuasively upon his heart. By degrees that 
feeling had worn off, but another misgiving had beset him. 

Rebecca was a great reader. That in itself pleased 
him; he had been delighted with the industry she had 
shown in going over his really fine library, and making 
herself acquainted with the best authors in it. But 
recently, he had known of her reading other books; not, 
perhaps, decidedly bad in themselves, but which, accord- 
ing to Mr. Linscott’s ideas, no woman could profitably 
read; books that were strong meat even for men of his 
own decided faith and well established character. Worse 
than this, she had dropped remarks now and then which 
indicated that she had a leaning toward what Mr. Linscott 
called “strong-mindedness.” If there was anything which 
Mr. Linscott abominated, it was a strong-minded woman. 
He was fond of saying that he agreed with Paul, exactly, 
concerning women. They were good, excellent, necessary 
in their place, but a misery and detestation out of it. 
They were evidently an after-thought of the Creator; and 
I believe, that when Mr. Linscott’s mind was inflamed by 


192 


A woman’s secret. 


reading, as he would read, the reports of Woman’s Rights 
conventions, he was ready to assert that they were the one 
blunder in the whole plan of creation. The idea of endow- 
ing a plainly inferior being with such persistent and 
unreasonable aspirations after equality, was an inconsist- 
ency which he could not understand. If Mr. Linscott 
had been an Ahasuerus he would have needed no princes 
or governors to have suggested the expulsion of these 
Vashtis. Forthwith they would have gone down to 
exceeding deep oblivion. 

Oh ! women who have to deal with men like these, be 
wise. Be softly spoken Esthers, and never stroke the 
royal fur the wrong way. So shall you prosper, and obtain 
all your desires. 

If my unworthy heroine had had an eye to the vacant 
honors of the household, I sincerely hope she would have 
been wise enough to have heeded this admonition. But 
fortunately for my story, which otherwise would have been 
ignominiously quashed at this present stage of proceeding, 
she had not. Therefore, though she was aware of the 
cloud no bigger than a man’s hand upon her horizon, 
she would not compromise her ideas of truth, by any 
dishonest endeavors to avert it. She did not desire to 
precipitate herself into any such boiling cauldron as she 
well knew such a controversy would be ; but, if Mr. Linscott 
had determined upon it, it must come. She could not 
always practice silence or circumlocution ; and when the 
hour arrived, angels and ministers of grace defend the 
right, for there would be no cry of quarter on either 
side. 

It was on Sunday afternoon that the trumpet sounded. 
An agent had preached in the morning, and after dinner 
had gone his way. The house was still, and Rebecca sat 
with a book in her hands — Miss Hannah More’s Devotions, 
or something equally innocent — when Mr. Linscott entered 


A woman’s secret. 


193 


the room. He made some remark concerning the weather, 
but very soon opened upon the subject nearest his heart: 

“Miss March,” he said, “ sundry small hints, which you 
have lately dropped, have led me to suspect that you have 
somehow imbibed dangerous and heretical notions. As a 
minister of the Gosj^el, and particularly as your pastor, I 
feel it my duty to inquire into the matter, and, if I find 
you in error, as I most sincerely hope I may not, kindly and 
with all Christian love and tenderness, to set you right.” 

Rebecca felt her heart sink within her. She had so often 
heard Mr. Linscott, and men of his caliber, assert that 
women are not equal to argument, but can only, at the 
utmost, scold ; she knew that a woman’s way of stating 
things, whenever it differs from a man’s, though it be 
equally truthful, is usually greeted with such open disre- 
spect by men, that she shrank from the contest. But duty 
is duty, and hers, just now, she felt to be to stand her 
ground, and use, as best she might, such weapons of 
defense as her Maker had provided her with. Therefore 
she said: 

“ Thank you. I am not aware of having departed from 
the faith of the Bible. If I have, upon proper showing, I 
shall most gladly return to it. May I ask upon what 
points your doubts have presented themselves?” 

“ It is, perhaps, rather a delicate matter to handle, since 
you may fancy that I am doing despite to your sex, which 
no man is farther from wishing to do, than I. But the 
Bible so plainly teaches that the position of woman is 
secondary, and inferior to that of man, that when I see a 
lady, whom I respect and admire, leaning toward the new 
fangled views which some bold, bad women are advancing, 
concerning the equality of the sexes — views which fly in 
the face of reason, common sense and religion — to the 
peril, as I truly believe, of their spiritual welfare, it becomes 
impossible for me to hold my peace.” 

I 


194 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


“ It is useless to fly in the face of reason, common sense, 
or religion,” said Rebecca quietly, “ since any claim which 
not only does not accord with all these, but which, in fact, 
is not solidly based upon them, cannot for a moment 
sustain its own weight, much less resist the attacks of its 
opponents. But let us examine the matter, and find, if we 
can, what the Bible, and reason, and common sense, do 
teach concerning it.” 

“Most gladly; and since we mean to be thorough, we 
will commence at the creation. Adam was made first, and 
then Eve.” 

“ The brutes were made first, and then Adam,” rejoined 
Rebecca, quietly. 

“Yes,” replied Mr. Linscott, “I have heard that argu- 
ment before. But it seems to be forgotten that Eve’s 
creation was, after all, only supplementaiy to that of 
Adam. She was formed from his rib.” 

“Possibly because the earth was too coarse a substance 
to be compatible with the finer uses for which she was 
designed. If there was so little of the material element 
in her, there must have been a great deal of God’s spirit, 
since of these two ai'e human beings composed.” 

“ Rebecca, this is puerile, childish. If there was more 
of God’s spirit in her, how happened it that she was first 
to transgress?” 

“ Because the serpent first tempted her, knowing that, 
being more spiritual in her nature, she had higher aspira- 
tions after heavenly knowledge.” 

“ This is quite contrary to all received teachings. It is 
true that many commentators allow that woman was 
created equal with man, though I think that there are 
passages, in the writings of Paul, which fairly create a 
doubt upon the subject; but the very language of the curse 
pronounced upon her makes it evident, that thereafter 
she was certainly degraded to an inferior rank. ‘Thy 


A woman’s secret. 


195 


desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over 
thee.’” 

“ Man has long ago discovered that the sentence to labor 
is full of beneficence and wisdom, and I do not believe 
that a one-sided justice was displayed in this matter. If 
woman was consigned to the duties of the home, it was 
for a wise and good purpose, not incompatible with her 
highest and purest estate. Furthermore, if the curse fell 
heaviest upon her, which in no wise appears to me, the 
promise was solely to her. If she was first in the trans- 
gression, she was, so far as man was concerned, alone in 
the redemption. Only the purer nature of woman was 
found worthy to co-operate with Divinity, in that great 
transaction.” 

Mr. Linscott began to see the danger of drifting away 
from his usual soundings into unknown and dangerous 
seas; and to cast about rather hastily for something old 
and stable to anchor to. 

“Rebecca!” he exclaimed, rather more violently than 
perhaps he intended, “ such perversions of God’s Word are 
very painful to witness. The Bible is to be understood by 
comparing different portions of it. You cannot be ignorant 
that the Mosaic law made several plain discriminations 
against woman. It accounted her ever the weaker and 
more infirm portion of the race, both on account of phys- 
ical and mental inferiority. Moreover, after the building 
of the Temple, women were not allowed to worship in the 
sacred portion of it, but were restricted to the outer 
court.” 

“ To the law of Moses,” said Reba, “ so far as it related to 
the infirmities of women, if that is the proper term for them, 
no woman can object, except upon the score of its laxity. 
As it stands, it is scarcely a sufficient barrier to the lust and 
rapacity of the men of those times. For the rest, the con- 
dition of woman, in the Old Testament world, was certainly. 


196 


A woman’s secret. 


as a general thing, sufficiently restricted ; but I still believe 
that the Divine intention was protection and not persecution. 
The woman was sternly commanded and obliged to confine 
herself to the duties and subserviences of the home ; but in 
an age when the sister was not always safe from outrage at 
the hand of the brother; when David, the man after God’s 
own heart, was still gross enough to commit a crime which, 
in these days, would forever brand a man, and, particularly, 
a religious teacher, with ignominy, is it unfair to suppose that 
the worship of men in the house of God would have been 
distracted and profaned by unholy thoughts, if w'omen had 
mingled indiscriminately in it ? Certainly it was not a time 
in which woman could safely be a public worker. The 
leaven of her pure nature must be hidden in the home, till 
that should be purified, and so the bounds of her sphere be 
enlarged by a natural necessity. 

“Meanwhile, God did not leave the sex without a witness. 
More than once, when Israel was compassed about with foes, 
and her men were powerless, by reason of their sin, for its 
salvation, a woman’s hand brought deliverance. If there 
was a prophet to be saved from the fury of the licentious 
mob who ruled at the court, it was a woman who concealed 
and nourished him. If the heart of a heathen king was to 
be softened, that the sacred nation might be preserved, it 
was by woman’s agency that the deed was accomplished. 
And so Miriam and Deborah, and the Widow of Zarepath, 
and the gentle Queen of Persia, kept alive the faith in the 
nobility and purity of womanhood, till, in the fullness of 
time, the world should become worthy of her presence, whom 
the JVIaker had foretold in the Garden ; and the promise, on 
which the world had hung for four thousand years, should 
be fulfilled.” 

“ The close biblical student wiU, moreover, discover 
unmistakable indications that the great law of progressive 
development had already begun to operate in favor of an 


A woman’s secret. 


197 


amelioration of her condition. For instance, in the dedica- 
tion of the first temple, there is no mention made of women 
as participating in the services ; but in the account of the 
second dedication they are prominently mentioned. It is 
worth noticing, too, that while it was Solomon, the licentious 
keeper of the largest harem on record, who excluded them, 
it was Ezra and Nehemiah, holy men and prophets of the 
Lord, who welcomed them to the scene of the greatest 
public event of the time.” 

“But, Reba, you must be aware, in spite of all your 
ingenious manipulating of received truth, in spite of all the 
grimaces you make in swallowing what you cannot make 
way with, that the fact still remains, that in the New Testa- 
ment as well as in the Old, after the birth of Christ as well 
as before, the doctrine of the subjection of woman is still a 
very prominent one. The Apostles, with one accord, assert 
and maintain it, so that were the Old Testament entirely 
stricken out of existence , enough would still remain to con- 
found all the Women’s Rights Conventions that ever met. 
Ah, Reba, the truth of God’s Word has withstood the stout 
assaults of infidels and skeptics in all ages — men of strong 
arms and devilish tempers. It is not likely to fall before the 
feeble rantings of a few weak, misguided women.” 

“In your haste, sir, you forget that I, for one, make no 
assault whatever upon sacred truth. I hold my Christian 
name, sir, as dear as you do yours. I will yield to no one 
in zeal for the truth of God’s Word; but, since Luther’s day, 
there has been no need for any Christian minister to berate 
the humblest of his flock for standing fast by the great right 
of the private interpretation of that Word. The Bible is 
the same in all ages ; but men progress from century to cen- 
tury in the knowledge as well as the love of it. Think of 
the modiflcations of Christian belief, which have transpired 
within the last fifty years even, and then say, if you have 
the courage, that the plummet of this generation has sounded 


198 


A woman’s secret. 


the infinite depths of revealed truth. Let us take up the 
teachings of the Apostles ; and in the outset I must beg you 
to notice this difference between the Law and the Gospel. In 
the Old Testament the fiat concerning woman is blind, dark, 
absolute; in the New, it is written all over with light and 
love and beauty.” 

Mr. Linscott was unable to see anything infidel or heret- 
ical in this statement ; he, therefore, contented himself with 
saying: 

“But at least the law is there, and expressed in no meas- 
ured or doubtful terms. ‘ Wives, submit yourselves to your 
husbands.’ ‘Therefore, as the church is subject unto Christ, 
let the wives be subject unto their husbands in every- 
thing.’ ” 

“ There are two propositions concerning the teachings of 
the Apostles on this subject, which I think can be incontro- 
vertibly established. The first is, that they qualify very 
essentially the ancient absolute authority of the man over 
the woman, by referring it to the principle of love, as in the 
passage you have just quoted, where Paul expressly reminds 
the husband, that as Christ gained his headship of the 
church by giving his life for it, so the husband derives his 
authority from his power and willingness to protect the 
object of it. Certainly, words could not convey a stronger 
sense of obligation than that. The second proposition is, 
that the Apostles, and the early church generally, admitted 
women as co-workers, in their own sphere, with men, in the 
work of spreading the faith; subject only to such restrictions 
as the proprieties of the times demanded. With these two 
propositions in view, we can hardly do better than to exam- 
ine the texts which refer to them, in course.” 

They provided themselves with Bibles, and after a short 
examination of the passages which relate to the mutual 
relations of husband and wife, Mr. Linscott was able only 
faintly to deny that the command to the husband to cherish 


A woman’s secret. 


199 


the wife, is at least as strongly affirmed as the command to 
the wife to obey the husband; though, from the fact that 
men have been mostly the speakers, heretofore, it has never 
been so strongly insisted upon. 

But,” read Mr. Linscott, “ ‘ the man is not of the 
woman, but the woman of the man. Neither was the man 
created for the woman, but the woman for the man.’ ” 
“Man was made to subdue the earth,” said Rebecca; 
“ that is, to be a worker among material things. With 
the strong, coarse fiber necessary to this work, the finest 
spiritual excellences were incompatible. Yet the earth 
must not be left without spiritual life and light ; therefore, 
woman was made to be a helpmeet for him ; not in subdu- 
ing the earth, for which office she is most plainly unfit, 
but in preserving the sacred flames of honor, and truth, 
and love to the world ; and you will please to mark how 
tenderly, in the succeeding verses, Paul guards against any 
wrong which his words may seem to do the woman. And 
this is not an isolated case of such caution. It occurs in 
every instance, or nearly so, where the subject is mentioned 
at all. It is my sincere belief, that men have greatly belied 
the apostles, and especially Paul, in this matter; for the 
more I study the epistles, the more I see that the writers 
of them were inspired with views of the female character 
far, very far, in advance of the prevailing conceptions 
of their times. Where, in all previous or contempora- 
neous literature, do you find such pure and noble ideals 
as those which the apostles held before the women 
of the Christian Church? To this day, indeed, they 
stand unrivaled for delicacy, and dignity, and purity. 
The world was not yet ripe for the complete emancipation 
of woman ; but they recognized very plainly the positive 
nature of her inspirational gifts, by permitting her to 
prophesy and pray, and those women who were not wives 
or mothers, were exhorted to be ‘ teachers of good things.’ 


200 


A woman’s secret. 


The female cliaconate was, moreover, a well established 
institution, and deaconesses held equal rank with deacons, 
and, in many instances, gained more than equal renown. 
The name of the pious, devoted, heroic Olympias, will 
stand side by side with that of St. Chrysostom, as long as 
Church history endures.” 

“ Really, Miss Rebecca, your eloquence is so overpower- 
ing, that I may mistake, but I think I remember a passage 
like this, in Corinthians : ‘Let your women keep silence in 
the churches ; for it is not permitted unto them to speak ; 
but to be under obedience, as also saith the law ; and if 
they will learn anything, let them ask their husbands.’ ” 

“ ‘ For it is a sAame,’ a disgrace, not a sin, ‘ for a woman 
to speak in the church.’ In another place is added, to a 
somewhat similar injunction, ‘ that the Word of God he not 
blasphemed? I think an impartial reading of his epistles 
must convince any one that Paul was powerfully influenced 
by the desire to avoid, as far as possible, giving olfense to 
his heathen neighbors. But the proprieties are not immu- 
table. The world’s ideas, concerning the subjection of 
woman, have already outgrown the use of the vail, and 
Paul’s command, in that matter, is as obsolete as those 
concerning feet washing and the salutation by kisses.” 

“You speak of Paul as if he were the sole author of 
the epistles, and not the medium of Divine revelation.” 

“ On the contrary, X was about to remind you that they 
were inspired by the same Spirit which rules the world 
to-day ; and which has ordained, that so fast as women are 
educated they shall become the teachers of the world. 
If history teaches any one thing, clearly and plainly, it is 
that this wonderful amelioration of the condition of woman 
is the direct outgrowth of the Christian religion. In fact, 
I have again and again heard women exhorted to zeal and 
gratitude, on this very account, and that from the Jericho 
pulpit, Mr. Linscott.” 


A woman’s secret. 


201 


“ It is no doubt true that Christianity has done much for 
woman. It has opened many subordinate fields of labor to 
her, but it nevertheless unfailingly asserts the natural and 
inerasable fact of the inequality of the sexes and the 
inferiority of woman. You seem to forget that fact, which, 
with all your ingenious quibbling, you have not yet 
mastered.” 

“ The inferiority of woman, in a certain sense, is a fact 
which I do not deny. If you consider a watch inferior, as 
a piece of mechanism, to a thrashing machine — and it is, in 
a sense; it utterly lacks the accumulation of physical force 
which distinguishes the thrashing machine — then I freely 
confess the inferiority of woman. It is upon this fact, 
indeed, that I chiefly build. A greater than Paul has said : 
‘ He that is least among you, the same shall be greatest.’ 
And it is in the sense here intended that I hold, and will 
most firmly maintain, the spiritual superiority of woman. 
Whoever is great spiritually, is usually small in that 
material sense, which is what most commends itself to the 
world’s perceptions; witness all great poets and religious 
teachers. While those who are strong in that lower sense 
— monarchs, warriors, the kings of finance and of trade — 
are correspondingly weak in spiritual strength. To this 
general rule, women are so far from being exceptions, 
that, as I believe, they form the one great, striking exam- 
ple of it. ‘When I am weak, then am I strong.’” 

Mr. Linscott was listening intently, with glittering eye 
and scornful lip. Rebecca continued : 

“ If there were anything dark or doubtful in the utter- 
ances of the apostles on this subject, and I do not conceive 
that there is, it would be more than offset by the great 
cardinal fact, that wherever Christianity goes, it carries 
with it the seeds of the elevation of woman. The men of 
to-day are not so much in advance of the men of the old 
dispensation as the women are, because Christianity has 


A woman’s secret. 


i02 

never had, could never have, such thorough acceptatioU 
;;iid deep, personal application at the hands of men, as of 
women. Spiritual things are spiritually discerned; and 
spiritual discernment is not so much a masculine as a 
t eminine trait.” 

Mr. LinScott was a good deal bewildered at the bold- 
ness of this logic. Hot that it convinced him, or caused 
him, for a moment, to waver in the old faith which he had 
taken in with his Westminster catechism, and which the 
whole tenor of his life had gone to confirm. But he was 
so much surprised at this unheard-of assumption, in so 
quiet a person as Rebecca, that he hardly knew how to 
reply. 

“ If your views are correct,” he said at last, “ the Mes- 
siah should certainly have come in the person of a woman, 
not of a man; and women should have been the first 
propagators of the faith.” 

“Not at all. When God would redeem mankind. He 
took upon Himself the form of a man. Had He done no 
more, the world would still have remained in sin. But He 
clothed Himself also in the unselfish, sacrificing spirit of 
woman, and by suffering, not by doing, saved the world ; 
foreshadowing thus the path humanity must tread before 
it reaches perfection. A woman received the Christ from 
God, and gave him to the world; women ministered to 
him, believed in him, wept over him, strengthened him, 
all his life; were last at the cross and first at the tomb, 
when men betrayed and crucified him, and his disciples 
forsook him and fled. When faith became knowledge, to 
write the record of that life, and to hold it up to the view 
of the world, was essentially the work of men. And well 
they managed the rough, rude breasting of popular vio- 
lence, the downright, stormy assertion and maintenance of 
truths which had been cradled at Bethlehem, nurtured a< 
Bethany, and at Jerusalem crowned with thorns.” 


A woman’s secret. 


203 


“Reba, the haughty spirit which you manifest is very 
unbecoming to a woman. The propagators of the faith 
were taken from among men, because the intellectual 
power necessary to such an undertaking is entirely impos- 
sible to woman. The mind of woman is naturally weak, 
and utterly incompetent to vast results in any given line. 
A simple, blind faith I grant to woman, but never intellec- 
tual greatness.” 

“ Pardon me, if I object to your way of stating the 
thing. I do not think, besides, that the facts will bear 
you out in it. I take it that the intellectual question may 
be incontrovertibly settled in this way. In physical 
strength man is undoubtedly the superior of woman, 
which gives to the manifestations of his intellect a certain 
force which women will not, and need not wish to rival. 
But other things being equal, there cannot be a doubt 
that she will develop as much intellectual capacity as 
man, to which her predominant emotional and spiritual 
nature will impart an elevation and fervor, equally unat- 
tainable by him.” 

“I deny your premises, and as a proof that women are 
not capable of great undertakings, let me remind you, 
that great affairs in all times have ever owed their origin 
and development to men. Why, men shape the destinies 
of the race.” 

“Aye, but women shape the race. The difference 
between a man and the sum of all or certain of his ances- 
tors, is exactly expressed by the powers and conditions of 
his mother, during the period previous to his bii’th. And 
from the time he is born, during the most impressible 
period of his life, he is almost solely in the hands of 
women. If the making and training of races go for 
anything, then the work of woman is not to be lightly 
estimated.” 

It was growing dark, and Mr. Linscott did not show 


204 


A woman’s secret. 


signs of desiring to prolong the conversation. As he 
opened the discussion, however, it devolved upon him to 
close it. 

“Rebecca,” he said, “I am greatly disappointed to find 
you so contumacious. The matter is far worse than I 
anticipated. I regret this the more, as it may interfere, 
nay, as I am a Christian minister, must interfere materially 
with my intentions toward you. I beg you to reconsider 
these views, and, if possible, renounce them.” 

It was the last fling of a man who felt himself worsted, 
and gave up with a very bad grace. Therefore, I think 
Rebecca’s answer, if very natural, a little unchristian. 

“Mr. Linscott,” she said, in those calm, liquid tones, 
which she could make so musical; “Mr. Linscott, your 
intentions toward me, as expressed by your deeds, have 
ever been so kind that they have left me nothing whatever 
to desire at your hands.” 

It was quite dark when Mr. Linscott left the room, but, 
as he went out, Rebecca felt that, by making an honest, 
earnest stand for what she believed to be truth, she had 
lost a friend. 


A woman’s secret. 


205 


XX. 

A MOTHERLESS CHILD AND A CHILDLESS MOTHER. 

Reba retired to her own room, after her talk with Mr. 
Linscott, feeling vexed and out of spirits. That gentle- 
man’s manner toward her had provoked her to dogmatize 
in a manner very repugnant to her feelings. She knew, 
too, that in going over so much ground in so short a space 
of time, she had been compelled to omit many modifications 
and illustrations of her thought, which, if she had been 
permitted to use them, would have smoothed away some 
apparent roughnesses, and given to the subject a far less 
bristling and defiant aspect. As it was, she felt sure that 
she had forever lost her place in Mr. Linscott’s esteem and 
admiration ; a thing always unpleasant in itself, and so 
much the more so, as she had hitherto found her home in 
Jericho a pleasant one. 

“I do not know that 1 can help it,” thought Reba, 
bitterly ; “ if, while God has given to woman the strong 
wing of intuition. He has also ordained that man shall 
come creeping behind her, on the ricketty crutches of a 
supposed fact and a possible deduction. I would have 
been glad to be milder with the man, if he would have 
let me ; but I will never be brow-l^eaten out of my own 
convictions of truth.” 

It was not in Reba’s way, just then, to reflect upon the 
wisdom of this provision of nature, by which man, who 
has the range of the whole wide creation, and has his work 
therein, should be made dependent upon its facts for 
knowledge j while woman, who is, for the most part, 
confined to the narrow limits of home, lifts a clear eye 
into the heavens, and beholds the principles from which all 
facts spring. 


206 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


Mr. Linscott did feel, as Reba clearly saw that he would, 
aggrieved and almost insulted, that a woman whom he had 
protected, and who had been for three years an inmate of 
his house, should have withstood him as Reba had done. 
That 2:)arting shot, too, on the subject of his intentions, 
had not been without its effect. And, altogether, there 
was a deep and rankling sense of injury left in his mind, 
which his manner toward her, during the next week, made 
very apparent. It was not artfulness which made Rebecca 
mild and conciliatory toward him, but a sincere desire, so 
far as could be, to repair the injury which he felt she had 
done him, even though her own conscience held her blame- 
less. But it was quite useless. The breach, she soon 
found, was one which could never be built up or bridged 
over. 

She retired to her room, one evening during the week, 
oppressed with a sense of coming change. She had been 
all over the ground, again and again, in her own thought ; 
had wondered often at the unseasonableness of men in 
being willing to sacrifice their own lives for the privilege 
of free thought, and then denying the right of opinion to 
woman ; had considered deeply whether there was any- 
thing left her to do to restore cofidence between herself 
and Mr. Linscott. But she could see nothing. She fell 
asleep at last — into a deep repose of mind and body, 
which seemed to be the result of her latest waking 
thought, that God is over all, and rules His universe of 
souls as He does His universe of stars ; the one as wisely 
and as surely as the other. 

But troubled dreams ere long beset her ; dreams of days 
gone by; of forms and faces she had not seen for years ; a 
child’s wailing rang in her ears all night long, and cold, 
clammy hands, that were still hands which she had passion- 
ately kissed, glided over her face. She rose at daylight, 
with a strong, unutterable yearning in her heart. 


A woman’s secret. 


207 


*‘Mr. Linscott,” she said, al breakfast, “I want to go to 
Wyndham, to-day. Have you any objection ?” 

“ Hot the least,” he said ; “ I will order the stage to call 
for you. It starts about nine o’clock.” 

The day was lovely as the opening spring could make it ; 
a pure air, with the scents of the pine groves blowing 
through it, a sky like crystal, and the soft, moist earth 
feeling the warmth of the sunlight, and thrilling into ver- 
dure and violets almost before her eyes. 

But all these loving influences could not charm the 
weight from Reba’s heart, or dispel the gloom that clouded 
her eyes. Look where she might, she could only think of 
the black and bitter past, from which, of late years, she 
had so resolutely turned her eyes. The old wrongs, and 
the old renunciations, were all, it seemed to her, to be 
suffered over again. Push them back, hold them at bay 
by the force of her will, as best she could, they would 
rush over her, and for a time she seemed utterly over- 
whelmed. 

“Why did I not die years ago,” her soul cried out, 
“ even before I was born, as Job wished he had done.” 

But at last, just before she reached the village, she 
leaned her head upon her hand, in utter weariness of the 
struggle, and gave up to the omnipotent, overruling 
Power. 

“ He can ‘ loose the bands of Orion,’ ” she said, “ and 
‘ guide Arcturus with his sons.’ There is nothin*g in my 
poor life which is too mighty for Him. ^All His waves 
and His billows have gone over me,’ and yet I live to 
praise Him — yea, am stronger and richer to-day than 
when first I felt His chastening hand. He has delivered 
me out of six troubles, and in the seventh He will not 
forsake me.” And the refrain came to her mind, from 
those spiritual heights to which we all look in our times 
of deep distress: “Yea, though I walk through the 


208 


A woman’s secret. 


Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil; for 
Thou art with me ; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort 
me.” 

Then, the day without was not brighter than the day 
within, and peace, like a river, flowed through her soul. 

At the entrance of the village the doctor encountered 
the stage. He drew up the old gray, and bowed to 
Rebecca; a deep sadness, it seemed to her, in his eyes and 
shadowing his face. 

“Go right to Joanna,” he called to her. “She will be 
glad to see you. Catherine is very sick.” 

A pang shot through Rebecca’s heart; but she had long 
ago learned self-control. It was five minutes before the 
stage halted at the doctor’s gate. As she walked up the 
graveled path her face was very sad, but her step was 
firm. 

It is a short story, and easily told. Four out of five of 
all the children born, die before they are five years old. 
But who shall calculate all the agonies compressed in those 
two lines? The novelist may linger over the bier, strewing 
flowers of sentiment; with well-feigned tenderness, may 
touch the quick soul into tears. But when the flowers are 
all faded, and the tears all shed, the depth of that agony lies 
unfathomed below. It is not the hopes wasted, or the love 
poured out in vain, that make that loss irreparable to the 
mother’s heart. Other children may come, and the hopes 
bloom and the loves twine again. But the spirit and essence 
of her^ own life were in the child; the best powers of her 
soul were blossoming and bearing fruit there. It is her 
purest, most intimate, farthest-reaching aspiration, which, to 
mortal eyes, has gone out in blackness of darkness forever. 
Her life opens out henceforth by that great window which 
the loss of the child made, into the hollow gulfs of eternity. 
Blessed for her if, instead of cold and clammy dampness, the 
pure light of heaven streams in through the breach. When 


A woman’s secret. 


209 


the stars go out, and the ocean ceases its plaint to the shore, 
and all finite things fade in the white light of eternity, the 
mother’s soul may be made whole again. Till then she 
walks bereaved. 

Something of all this Joanna and Rebecca felt, as they 
watched the slow wasting of little Kitty’s life. Rebecca 
held her for hours together in her arms. Looking upon her 
perfect and strangely mature beauty, she traced in the full 
black eyes, and wax-like skin, and regular harmonious 
contour, the perfect reproduction of features which, in her 
girlish days, had stood to her for all chrivalrous and manly 
attributes. In the dimness and silence of that solemn room, 
scene after scene of those early days rose before her, and the 
memory of them pierced her heart afresh. But the hours 
went on, and with the morning light the spirit fied. 

There were others to care for the little body — it was 
Rebecca’s duty to weep with the bereaved Joanna. The 
stricken heart cried out: “I loved her so! All the forecast of 
my life centered in her; and now she is taken from me. Her 
cooing voice will never greet my ears again; her pretty hands 
wiU never smooth these poor, wrinkled checks. I shall 
never see the light shine out of those great, deep eyes, that 
always seemed looking through all things to the life behind 
and beyond them. Oh ! it was nothing to me that I was 
growing old myself — that my life was wasting and perish- 
ing, and losing its freshness and its beauty, while her sweet 
soul was gathering all the lost bloom and brightness into 
itself, and growing daily more and more into that ideal of 
Life which I once so fondly cherished. And now, my little 
white fiower is faded — my little bird of Paradise droops her 
wings ; and I, dead to all love, must still live on.” 

And Rebecca., who once before had found words to 
comfort, was dumb now, and could only weep in silence 
with her. 

“When we do not know what else God means,” said Laura 
12 


210 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


Darrell, coming in upon them in their grief, ‘‘we may always 
be sure that He means Loiie. Rest on that now ; the special 
purpose will be plainer by and by.” 

When the old sexton came to the doctor to inquire where 
little Kitty’s grave should be dug, a curious circumstance 
transpired. 

“It kind o’ ought to be,” said the sexton, “in the corner 
by the Gladstone lot. There’s just about room there for a 
small grave, betwixt where Miss Joanna ’d naturally be laid 
and the line of the lot. It’ll shove the little one up pretty 
close to old Mrs. Gladstone, though.” 

“Well,” said the old doctor, pensively, “let it be so. 
They won’t quarrel.” 

The sexton saw only a ghastly joke in the remark; but, 
as the doctor walked away, he repeated to himself in a tone 
that was not jocose — “Dust to its kindred dust. The old 
lady was a good woman; a tender-hearted woman. They — 
won’t — quarrel.” 

The funeral went by, and stiU Rebecca lingered in her 
old home at Mrs. Darrell’s. There seemed no strength in 
her to go back ta her accustomed tasks. The whole wrong 
and misery of her life were forced upon her afresh; her 
nights were spent in weeping; her days in a hard 
struggle for outward composure. At length, one midnight, 
when Mr. Darrell was away from home, she rose from her 
bed and sought her friend. 

“Mrs. Darrell,” she said, “once I stood by you in trouble. 
Will you do as much for me now?” 

Laura was awake in an instant, and drew the drooping 
head to her pillow. 

“Lie down here,” she said, “and tell me all about it.” 

For two long hours these women talked together; and 
as the sad, sad story overflowed from Rebecca’s lips, 
Laura’s ardent soul caught fire and blazed with friendly 
zeal and sympathy. 


A woman’s secret. 


211 


“You poor, stricken, suffering lamb,” she said, “ torn 
by the wolves, and beaten and cast out by the shepherds, 
and yet, and yet leading a life so much deeper and purer 
than thousands of more favored ones. Oh ! how can God 
look upon the earth and suffer such things to be. Reba, 
believe me when I say, that never again while I have a 
home shall you want for one. Never while I have bread 
shall you need. And this not only for your individual 
sake, but for the sake of wronged, abused, down-trodden 
woman.” 

During the conversation, the peculiarities of Rebecca’s 
position at Mr. Linscott’s came to light, and Laura was 
confirmed in her impression that the best, and only true 
thing for Rebecca to do, was to make a change in her 
employment. 

“You know,” she said, “I have never been satisfied 
that you were quite in the way of your duty. What you 
have told me to-night convinces me that I am quite right. 
It is very true that woman’s highest duties are in the home ; 
but that they are limited to it, I can by no means concede. 
Her relations to society and the world, in the present state 
of civilization, are intimate and far-reaching, and should be 
of a nature to purify and refine the coarser elements of life 
beyond any thing which man alone can possibly achieve in 
that direction. The heathen nations are not suffering for 
light, as the men of this generation are. Witness the 
mire of sensuality in which so many of them flounder, to 
the degradation of their own best powers, and the utter 
ruin, temporal and, so far as we can see, eternal, of 
thousands of helpless and otherwise innocent women. I 
would in no wise fall behind Paul, who has declared that 
‘charity But it is very hard to measure 

one’s invective against the deliberate, cold-blooded 
betrayer of female honor. The most that can be said in 
extenuation of his crime is, that his fault, after all, is the 


212 


A woman’s secret. 


fault of the system in which men are educated, in spite of 
their mothers, too often with their blind sanction, by the 
pulpit and the press, that is, by each other, namely: that 
women are the natural and lawful prey of the male sex; 
the small fry of creation, the perch and minnows made 
for the express eating of lordly pikes in the shape of men. 
When men come to understand and know, that the higher 
and nobler uses for which women were created consti- 
tute them the purest and most elevated order of beings 
the earth affords; when they are made to feel it their duty, 
always and everywhere, to protect and cherish women, 
because they are women, the race of seducers will become 
small by degrees and beautifully less.” 

“But, Mrs. Darrell, women themselves need a great 
deal of cultivation, to raise them, as a mass, nearer the 
true ideal of womanhood.” 

“Very true; but it can never be done, so long as this 
false, bad notion of the absolute inferiority of woman 
exists. That once uprooted, and women taught the self- 
respect which would naturally ensue from their taking a 
secure and acknowledged jDosition at the head of society, 
and ot all benevolent and philanthropic effort, instead of 
being tacked on, as at present, to the tail of such enter- 
prises, while a grandiloquent President and Board of 
Directors are grouped together to make a figure-head, and 
generally prove about as useful as that appendage — and 
the complaints of scandal and extravagance in dress would 
soon cease. At worst, these are women’s only vices, and 
show of themselves, as compared with the love of 
alcoholic and narcotic stimulants, and licentiousness, the 
equally distinguishing vices of men, the relative position 
of the sexes.” 

“But, Mrs. Darrell, I am only one woman, and not a 
very bold or strong one at that. What can I do toward 
bringing about this result ? ” 


A woman’s secret. 


213 


“ The work of one, my dear, which is all the best of us can 
do. But do, I entreat you, let your voice and influence, 
your whole life, go toward the emancipation of woman.” 

“Mrs. Darrell, your views are so pronounced, your 
words so ready, why do you not write on this subject? I 
am sure you might.” 

“Ah! Reba, too many women have written already, 
trite and shallow things, which but confirmed the world 
in its estimate of woman’s incapacity.” 

“But you are too earnest to say trite and shallow 
things.” 

“Many a word, Reba, which seems forcible and earnest 
in the silence of one’s own room, spoken in the ear of the 
world, becomes either a diminutive whisper, or a feeble 
squeak. I can but think that, in order to write worthily, 
one should be able to draw from deeper wells of thought 
and experience than those sounded by the worldling or 
the merely ambitious soul. It is to humanity’s higher 
self that the writer properly addresses himself, and I 
think too well of this pure soul of man, of which the 
great living, moving world of society and commerce is 
but the outer shell, to believe that it can ever be thrilled 
by the words of a common-place or pre-occupied mind. 
The deepest culture, the strictest discipline, should 
worthily frame, even God’s high commission, before the 
soul should dare take upon itself to instruct this great 
living heart.” 

“And then a woman’s book, especially if it be about 
women, has such an unfair chance. The critics are all 
men, and, one would judge by what they say of each other, 
men of very fractious dispositions besides.” 

“ It is true there is a race of critics bred in large towns, 
their instincts perverted by a knowledge of the world, who 
look upon every book that is published, every attempt made 
to elevate the position of woman, in precisely the same 


214 


A woman’s secret. 


spirit in which a small black and tan terrier looks upon a 
rat; as a thing to be treated lo a good grip, a hard shake, 
and, if possible, to be left dead on the field. A book 
must have something more than the ordinary vitality, to 
run the gauntlet of these, and escape their fangs. But 
beyond them is a class of noble, intelligent men, loyal to 
truth and zealous for the world’s progress, naturally chiv- 
alrous, besides, in heart and bearing, who will give every 
worthy word a right royal welcome; and of whom no 
complaint can be made, except that they, too, are a little 
infected with the idea that not so much ought to be 
expected from a woman as a man — which is true at 
present, through the circumstances of her rearing, not 
from the paucity of her natural endowments — and are, 
besides, a little inclined to flattery, by which means some 
mischief has been done in the way of lowering the stand- 
ard of female achievement. After all, the critics, as 
critics, have neither the power of life nor death; for God 
has so made the race, that a true word, well spoken, will 
command the ear of the world, whether it come from man 
or woman.” 

It followed from this conversation, that when Reba went 
back to Jericho, Mrs. Darrell went with her, and by her 
means a peaceable separation was effected between Mr. 
Linscott and Rebecca, and the acrimonious feeling remain- 
ing in his mind, a good deal softened. 

“ Rebecca has, after all, been faithful to her duties,” he 
said, “ and has behaved herself in so exemplary a manner, 
that of all the ladies in Jericho, I know of none more 
highly respected than she. If she holds some opinions 
adverse to my own, and as I believe to the truth, I suppose 
much must be pardoned to the natural weakness of a 
woman’s understanding. God’s mercy is infinite, and 
happily He makes little account of intellectual error if 
only the heart be right.” 


A woman’s secret. 


215 


Mrs. Darrell swallowed her amusement, and did not so 
much as allow a twinkle of it to escape at her eyes. 

“It is in the grain,” she said; “let us waste no time 
trying to polish it out.” 

But perhaps she had a little sly revenge in the thought, 
that even Mr. Linscott was, in his own way, very dependent 
upon women. 

Reba, settled once more in Mrs. Darrell’s home, felt 
herself free from the shackles of the past, as she had never 
done before. It seemed to her that partly she had won, 
and partly Providence had given back to her, the right to 
call her life her own, and to make the most of it. The 
feeling gave her new strength. Once, when Mr. Darrell 
had offered her the place of an accountant in his office, 
with the same salary and privileges that he would give to 
a man, she had said to him : 

“Sir, the dust of your office would soil my robes.” 

But now circumstances were changed, she herself was 
changed. She felt herself strong enough to tread firmly 
and freely the plane of masculine action, and gather there- 
from no stain. When, therefore, the offer was for the third 
time renewed, she accepted it. There was the usual nine 
days’ talk, which was of course to be expected ; but when 
it was found that she continued to remain at Mrs. Darrell’s 
house, and was treated by her, not as an inferior, but as a 
friend and equal, scandal laid its hand upon its mouth, and 
was dumb ; as indeed I believe it would have been, had 
she domiciled in the humblest house in the town, so she 
had gone steadily about her work, with a heart and life 
pure in the sight of all men. 


216 


A woman’s secret. 


XXI. 

THE INCAPABLES. 

Mr. Darrell, entering his office on Saturday morning, 
suddenly remembered, that, on the following Monday, 
Rebecca was to commence her duties. 

“ Humph,” he said, looking about him a little uneasily, 
and seeing dimly, for the first time in his life, that the 
place wasnotas neat as a parlor. “ Slade, seems to me we 
look uncommonly dirty here. I guess it’s because it is 
spring, and we hav’n’t cleaned house yet, eh?” 

Mr. Leslie Slade was the book-keeper; in the parlance 
of the young ladies of Wyndham, he was a very stylish 
young man. He sported a well waxed moustache, dressed 
a la mode^ carried a small cane, and aspired to be a lady 
killer. Slade looked about him rather incredulously. The 
place was not any dirtier to his eyes than usual. The win- 
dows always had been blurred with dust. He had never 
known the time when the ledges were quite free from it, 
and it was certainly years since the cocoa matting on the 
floor had shown its original color. And Slade, exquisite 
though he was, sporting his perfumed pocket handkerchief, 
and wearing immaculate linen, had never seemed to feel 
the place other than clean. 

“ The truth is,” continued Mr. Darrell, “ we are going to 
have a lady in here, next week ; a lady whom I respect 
very much, and who I expect will be more critical about 
these things than we have been. Hum ! I hardly know, 
myself, what is the proper thing to be done, but I suppose, 
if we were to have Peter’s wife” (Peter was the porter) 
“ come here, she would know precisely. There’s the floor 
and the windows — well, I guess the truth is, we need a 
pretty general going over. We’ll have to manage so as 


A woman’s secret. 


217 


to shut up by four or five o’clock, and send her in here. 
So mind you get your papers out of her way. These 
women, when they get a cleaning frenzy on, do upset 
things so.” 

“ Very well, sir,” said Slade, “I’ll be ready for her.” 
And Mr. Slade’s face, that needed nothing but the expres- 
sion of a noble and upright soul, to make it a handsome 
one, began already to wear the lady killer smirk. 

When Mr. Darrell had provided that the place should be 
made clean, he felt quite satisfied with himself. That old 
retort of Reba’s, about the dust of his office soiling her 
robes, had had a literal point to it, which she was far from 
suspecting. As Mr. Darrell entered the office, on Monday 
morning, and viewed the success of Jane’s labors, he said 
to himself, mentally : 

“ This will do for a month to come, at least. She can’t 
complain that her white skirts will suffer here.” 

Reba, entering a few moments later, cast an eye about her 
and saw at once that some preparations had been made for 
her advent. She was wise enough, however, to say nothing, 
but put away her bonnet and shawl, and took the seat 
indicated by Mr. Darrell, with an external composure so 
perfect, that neither of the gentlemen present at all 
suspected her of any fiuttering at heart. Mr. Slade was 
introduced, and commenced, in his most gallant way, to 
make the lady’s acquaintance, and at the same time 
to instruct her concerning her new duties. Everything 
seemed to be working as smoothly as possible. 

Yet, in spite of himself, Mr. Darrell felt fidgetty. The 
place and the woman did notseem to accord. Before night 
this conviction grew upon him to an extent that was 
positively uncomfortable. About five o’clock, he looked 
at his watch, gave a few directions to Mr. Slade, and 
started off out of the office. He made his way directly to 
the upholsterer’s. 

K 


218 


A woman’s secret. 


“Gardiner,” he said, “I want my office fixed up. I 
havVt had a thing done to it for years, and it’s getting 
too shabby to be borne. I want a new carpet, a good 
Brussels, I guess, they wear the longest, and a set of 
curtains — since we’ve got the windows washed, the light 
is unbearable — and some good new office chairs.” 

“A Brussels carpet, Mr. Darrell,” said Gardiner, in 
some surprise, “ for an office ! Why, the dirt that will 
be tracked in on it, in one month, will ruin it.” 

“Well, we worCt have dirt tracked in on it. We’ll put 
a mat outside, and a scraper, if necessary.” 

Mr. Gardiner saw that his customer was in earnest, and 
at once commenced to take the order. 

“You’d better go right down to-night, and get the 
measure for the carpet,” said Mr. Darrell, “ and do the 
thing up as soon as possible.” 

And so it came to pass, that in a week’s time Mr. 
Darrell’s office, from being dark and dingy and dismal, 
was light and clean, and well furnished ; a place fit for a 
lady, and, as he began to perceive, for a gentleman. Cer- 
tain other perceptions began to dawn also on Mr. Darrell’s 
mind. Slade was a good book-keeper, quite unexception- 
able in a business way ; but, outside of business, certain 
reports had come to Mr. Darrell’s ears, not altogether 
creditable to the young man. In fact, sundry boasts and 
not very delicate insinuations of the gentleman himself, 
had quite confirmed these rumors. Men have an instinct- 
ive recognition of their own coarse natures, and do not 
easily feel themselves debased by association ; so, though 
Mr. Darrell was himself entirely true to his marriage vows, 
he, nevertheless, could smile at the rather serious pecca- 
dillos of a young man like Slade; and, as he was faithful 
and honest, which last Mr. Darrell took great pains, day 
by day, to insure that he should be, he practically thought 
little the worse of him for them. But Mr. Darrell had 


A woman’s secret. 


219 


spoken only the truth, when he remarked that he had very 
great respect for Reba. Moreover, his nearly twenty 
years of intimate association with a woman so pure and 
noble as his wife, had refined his mind and deepened his 
intuitions to that degree that, as, day by day, he saw Slade 
bending over Reba’s desk or chair in the necessary inter- 
course of the ofiice; as he watched the look of restrained 
sensualism in his eye, and the occasional laxity of his 
attitudes and gestures — little things which a woman might 
have felt, but would never have seen, for Mr. Leslie Slade 
was, outwardly, very respectful to Reba — he began to feel 
an undefined uneasiness creep over him. 

“Confound the man,” he exclaimed to himself, “can’t 
he keep his sensuality out of sight here, in the office? 
That woman is no parlor doll-baby. She will be sure to 
read him, and to feel insulted by his presence.” 

But Mr. Slade was by no means to be blamed for his 
want of reticence. He did try very hard, feeling instinct- 
ively how necessary it was to his self-respect in her 
presence, to impress Reba with a sense of his gentleman- 
liness. If he failed, it was simply because, when a man’s 
whole being is pervaded with impure and sensual desires, 
there is no disguise in the universe that will hide it from 
even a tolerably true eye. Reba knew the man at once, 
and it grated upon her feelings to be obliged to -meet him 
in daily and hourly intercourse. “However,” she said, 
“this is one of the penalties one pays for leaving, even 
temporarily, the natural and prescribed walks of womanly 
labor. If it was right to come here at all, it is right to 
bear this infiiction in silence, so long as the man is per- 
sonally respectful. If, however, Mr. Darrell had carried 
the removal of unclean things from his office a little farther, 
and put this man out of the way, I should certainly have 
been better pleased.” 

It is not quite clear to the perceptions of many virtuous 


220 


A woman’s secret. 


souls, that the mixing in society of men of foul lives and 
degrading associations is, in itself, a contamination. In 
the parlor, etiquette imposes, or is supposed to, many 
wholesome restraints, which, if men and women mingled 
more freely in public intercourse, would be found to be 
wholly inadequate. If ever society is purged of its foul- 
ness in this respect, the work must be begun upon the 
lower planes of life, and men themselves must learn to 
draw distinctions. 

On the whole, however, Reba’s life at the office was not 
unpleasant. The labor was comparatively light, the salary 
better than most occupations offer to women; it was, 
besides, a new field of observation and study, and the 
annoyances to which her sex exposed her were, she often 
fancied, less than the amusement she derived from the 
same source. It was rather pleasing, she thought, to notice 
how deftly cigars were slipped to one side by the more 
refined callers at the office; how again and again coarse 
language and rude behavior were checked by her presence ; 
the profane word omitted from the exclamation, and a 
milder one substituted. 

“I begin to be converted,” she said to Mrs. Darrell, one 
evening, “to your view of things. I do believe that the 
most neglected missionary work in the world is that which 
women ought to be doing for men, by mingling with them 
in the ordinary avocations of life.” 

As for Mr. Darrell, he was well pleased with his new clerk. 

“But, then,” he said to Laura, “you mustn’t argue too 
much from the success of this experiment. Reba is cer- 
tainly a treasure, but ninety-nine other women would be 
nuisances. She is exact, faithful and capable. She is a 
perfect lady in her manners ; she compels, without herself 
being aware of it, the respect of every man Avho comes into 
the office. Such a woman as that would win her way any- 
where.” 


A woman’s secret. 


221 


“ That is the great trouble concerning women,” said 
Laura; “they are, by training and the circumstances of 
their lives, as a general thing, so incapable, so lacking in 
comprehension of anything in the way of business-like 
exactness and faithfulness.” 

“Yes,” said Ralph, “I’ve often noticed that it is never 
the goo^ seamstresses, the cooks, the housemaids, 
who are out of work and fall into distresses. A really 
smart, efficient, capable woman can do anything she pleases 
in the world. She has twenty chances where a man has 
one; her sex tells in her favor; which is one reason that I 
so soon get out of patience when I hear about single 
women, women without children, starving for want of 
work. As a general thing, those who starve are small loss 
to the world ! ” ’“ 

“ Oh ! Ralph ! Ralph ! you are ungenerous now ; for, say 
what you may, when it comes to the matter of earning 
one’s own living, the laws and the customs are all oppres- 
sive, to the last degree, where women are concerned. And 
when you add to this the fact that they are taught from their 
cradles that they cannot and ought not to do as much as 
men, being naturally the weaker vessels, yet, at the pinch, 
find that it requires just as much food to keep them from 
starving, and just as much clothing to keep them from 
freezing, as if they were men, it is no wonder that so many 
of them become discouraged, and either sink into helpless- 
ness, or, worse, into that yawning gulf which the profligacy 
of men keeps ever open at their feet.” 

“Well, now, I deny that the laws and customs are 
altogether to blame. Just you suppose that one-half the 
women who are starving to death at plain sewing were to 
educate themselves as scientific and practical cooks — which 
any smart woman might do in the kitchen of her wealthy 
neighbor; and half the women who are elbowing each 
other so uncomfortably as teachers — say that half which 


222 


A woman’s secret. 


plainly confess that they have no love for the vocation, 
hut only practice it for the pay — should fit themselves by 
cheerful endeavor for intelligent, faithful nurse-girls, do 
you suppose they would get a cold shoulder from the 
world ? I think not. Why, I know of forty families that 
would hail such an one as a godsend, and pay any price 
for her services. It is not opportunity, but pride, and 
want of inclination to work, that starves many women. 
In the old countries, a good housekeeper, or a good nurse- 
maid in a wealthy family, is considered quite equal socially 
to the wives of small tradespeople, and I do not know 
any reason why they would not take even higher rank 
here. In this country, it is especially true that it is shift- 
lessness and incapacity that are looked down upon. Why, 
we have so little of the spirit of caste, that we respect a 
good clam-digger more than a bad poet! The truth is, that 
the present generation of women are singularly inefficient 
and incapable of doing anything in a thorough^ business- 
like way.” 

Laura thought a minute very soberly. 

“ Ralph,” she said “ the present generation of women 
have, as a general thing, been regularly trained to do 
nothing whatever, but to depend upon men to work and 
think, and almost breathe for them. They have been 
taught that it is unladylike to work, to be in any way 
useful ; that the only way for a woman to live is to get 
married, and to exact from the man she marries the 
greatest possible amount of gratification, for the least 
possible return. That is their vocation. Whether or not 
they are mistresses of it, let the husbands of some of our 
fashionably educated women testify.” 

“ Now, Laura, it is you who are unjust. If women lack 
training, pray whose fault is it? What are all our female 
colleges and seminaries of learning for?” 

“Principally to enable women to make herbariums and 


A woman’s secret. 


223 


calculate eclipses. When you speak of the educational 
advantages afibrded to women, you touch a delicate 
subject. It has long been my opinion, that, as a nation, 
we stultify ourselves in this particular, in a way which, 
in any practical business matter, would stamp us as fools 
at once. It is all very well for a woman to be able to sail 
a ship according to the latest theories of navigation, or to 
analyze chemically any known or unknown substance, 
provided first, that she do not thereby neglect a knowledge 
of her first and most obvious duties as a woman — good 
house-keeping, good nursing, and, above all, the difficult 
and incalculably important duties of maternity; and, 
secondly, that she be provided with some way of earning 
her own living, when that becomes necessary. 

“ If women were educated to do their own work well, 
it is true that they would not be so utterly helpless, when 
thrown upon the world, to take care of themselves. If, 
besides, those girls who are evidently liable to be so 
placed — the daughters of men themselves dependent upon 
their own exertions, the daughters of widows, orphan 
girls without means — if these could have an equal knowl- 
edge of practical affairs with boys, it would avail them 
vastly more toward keeping body and soul together, and 
preserving the priceless jewel of their honor from the 
rapacity of men, than much Greek and mathematics. 
That, or else, being fitted for the learned professions, let 
the learned professions be opened to them. To educate 
a large class of our girls to the same tastes and habits to 
which we would educate our boys, if we designed them 
for doctors, or lawyers, or ministers, and then tell them, 
‘ you must teach or starve,’ when, if there were an equal 
distribution of scholars among such aspirants, there would 
be about three pupils to a teacher, is certainly absurd.” 

“ But girls don’t have time to learn everything, Laura.” 

“ Neither do boys ; for which excellent reason they are 


224 


A woman’s secret. 


only expected to learn that which will be most useful or 
indispensable to them. That is simple common sense ; 
but it somehow seems to be impossible for men to exercise 
common sense, where the advantages or privileges of 
women are concerned.” 

“ But, when all is said and done, there is a large 
class of women who are naturally incapable of taking 
care of themselves. Weak in body, weak in spirit, pur- 
poseless, inefficient, mere waifs on the great ocean of 
humanity.” 

“Yes, there are such men, too. That the women of this 
class are more numerous, is, I believe, simply because 
of the errors in training which we have just been discuss- 
ing. But it is a sore, sore wrong, which underlies all that 
stratum of society. These people who are naturally 
incapable, are so, nine times out of ten, because they truly 
reflect the discouragements, the heart-weariness, the secret 
pinings and regrets of the mothers who bore them. Ralph, 
when I look around me, and see the terrible disadvantages 
under which women labor, at their great sacred office of 
maternity, I wonder not at the weakness of the race, but 
at its indomitable energy and life. If there is any being 
in the world more to be pitied than the woman whose 
every energy is taxed for the support of the new life ; 
whose days are filled with a thousand nameless discom- 
forts, and her nights with wakefulness and sufiering ; who 
feels herself, too often, neglected by her husband, just 
when she most needs his utmost tenderness and sympathy; 
the victim of nervous fears and premonitions, compelled 
to labor, deprived of many of the genial, harmonizing 
influences of the outer world ; if there is anybody more to 
be pitied than this neglected, sufiering, helpless woman, it 
is the weak, desponding, incapable offspring, she must of 
necessity bring into the world. I have seen such ones, 
that made my heart ache more than any case of acute 


A woman’s secret. 


225 


suffering I ever saw. Incapable of taking care of them- 
selves, incapable of inspiring any interest in others which 
would lead to assistance, oftentimes cursed with the vain, 
hopeless, aimless longings, which beset the suffering but 
uncomplaining mother, with no earthly chance of ever 
seeing them gratified; — ah! Ralph, these are they whom 
the Christ commanded us to forgive the ‘ seventy times 
seven ’ sins. Ralph, thinking of these alone makes my 
heart burn within me to raise my hand and voice in behalf, 
not of women, but of all the weak and down-trodden of 
the race.” 

“ Laura,” said her husband, tenderly, “ don’t get excited. 
You are just laying off the burdens of your life. Don’t 
take the world on your shoulders quite yet. Give your- 
self a little rest.” 

As age crept toward Mr. Darrell, and his blood steadied 
itself a little, he leaned more and more upon his faithful, 
large hearted wife; he cherished her tenderly; he gained 
a quicker and deeper insight into her wants ; he depended 
more upon her judgment, and trusted more to her intui- 
tions. And as Laura, her nature expanded and toned to a 
sweeter beneficence by the loves and duties of woman- 
hood, passed from the narrow and partial reach of youth, 
to the grander range and wider horizon of middle age, 
and felt, as the true woman ever does feel, as she passes 
this mysterious line, her mother-heart grow great toward 
all the race, he began to see, as he never had seen before, 
the true significance of woman’s calling ; and to feel as 
she felt, that the fruit which had ripened in his own house- 
hold, under his own eye, yet how often with little help 
from him, was meet for the world’s acceptance. And yet 
his soul was divided with weak and not unselfish longings 
to hold his treasure back, to keep for himself, and his own 
home, all that warmth of love, that depth and clearness 
of spiritual insight. Therefore, he said: “Give yourself 


226 


A woman’s secret. 


a little rest. Don’t put on the new harness too soon. Yoi) 
are not strong enough for it.” 

“My husband,” she said, looking steadily at him, hei 
great, gray eyes shining now with inward light; “mj 
husband, it is the nature of women to grow strong iir 
giving, rather than receiving. Do not hold me back; but 
let me feel, instead, your strong arm around me for sup 
port and defense. So I shall be invulnerable.” 

There was a moisture in his eyes, as he answered: 
“ Laura, God does dwell more nearly with women than 
with men. Lead you the way; I follow. You shall be 
eyes to see; I strength to execute.” 


A woman’s secret. 


227 


XXII. 

AMONG THE “ VINES.” 

In the three years which had elapsed since his wife’s 
death, Abraham Gladstone’s • fortunes had steadily im- 
proved. His whole strength and energy had been con- 
centrated upon the one object of winning back his 
hereditary position. Till he saAv the mortgage upon the 
old estate cancelled, and the power in his hands to reside 
there in the old state and glory, he was determined to 
give no thought to any other matter. 

Such singleness of purpose was characteristic of the 
man. He had not a brilliant mind ; would never carry off 
fortune’s prizes by storm. He was not gifted with quick 
and deep insight. His words ever came slowly, and in 
public speaking were never redundant. But he Avas 
careful, painstaking, thorough. In forensic debates, he 
was clear and forcible, rather than eloquent; his logic 
was simple and had a certain mathematical accuracy and 
precision which always told with a jury. In cases where 
the feelings of his audience were interested, he seldom 
drew tears, but often touched a certain minor key of 
sadness that reaches below the tear-ducts — which lie, 
after all, very near the surface — into the hidden places 
of sorrow itself. 

Without at all possessing those shining surface gifts, 
which oftenest render a man what is called popular, he 
still had gained a fast hold upon the hearts and minds of 
the people among whom he lived. They knew that he 
was an honest man. You could not impannel a jury 
within twenty miles of Wyndham, that Avouldn’t believe 
every word that Abraham Gladstone told them to be true. 


228 


A woman's secret. 


They knew him to be earnest and hard-working, with a 
native goodness of heart, which, in spite of his pressing 
want of money, led him always to undertake the cause of 
a poor man as readily as if he were rich, provided he 
were certain that he was in the right. For these reasons, 
it happened that he had not unfrequently been nominated 
for county and state offices, and had never yet been 
defeated. Parties were pretty equally divided, and the 
leaders of the liberal side had already begun to speak of 
Abraham Gladstone as the most available candidate for 
the next Congressional election. He was, therefore, 
emphatically a rising man. 

This very spring of which we write, he had so reduced 
the mortgage upon the old estate, that he felt himself 
practically out of debt, with a sure income which would 
warrant him in opening the family mansion whenever he 
should find the proper person to be mistress of it. This 
being well understood to be the case, there was naturally 
a flutter of anxiety through all the female part of the 
community; for a handsome, good tempered man like Mr. 
Gladstone, who at thirty-five was the foremost man in 
the county, would not be likely to go begging for a wife. 

Mr. Gladstone understood this fact perfectly, and 
accepted it with the usual masculine complacency. How- 
ever, it by no means reduced the difficulty of a choice. 
Just at the present juncture, there were two ladies who 
stood out with some prominence from the ranks of his 
female admirers. 

The first, my pen hesitates to confess it, was Miss Lillie 
Meredith, the only child of the widow lady with whom 
Mr. Gladstone had boarded for the last two years. 

Searching about for reasons for this prominence of Miss 
Lillie’s claims, I can only find two: the first, propinquity; 
and the ^second, the fact that Mr. Gladstone was a man. 
If this last seems still a little obscure, I shall endeavor 


A woman’s secret. 


229 


hereafter to shed some light upon it. Miss Lillie was a 
fair-haired young lady of about nineteen summers, though 
few persons would have judged her to he more than 
seventeen, so girlish and immature were her manners. 
Her mother was a poor woman, who worked all her days 
and many of her nights to maintain herself and daughter. 
Or, rather, more truthfully, her daughter. The entire 
cost of her own keeping would hardly have paid for that 
young lady’s boots. Miss Lillie had been sent to the 
Academy ever since she was nine years old. She had 
been taught French, and music, and drawing, and dancing. 
She knew about as much about kitchen work as one of 
the flies which buzzed about her mother’s kitchen window 
panes. She had never made a bed in her life; she had 
never swept a room in her life ; she had never made a 
petticoat for herself, though she may possibly have 
achieved tatting enough to put about the edge of one 
when her mother had otherwise finished it, but be sure 
she never sewed the tatting on. 

But Miss Lillie was very pretty, very accomplished, 
very engaging. She was always nicely dressed, when 
Mr. Gladstone saw her ; for if she was up late, and had no 
time to take her hair out of the curling pins before the 
breakfast bell rang, she would not go down to breakfast. 
And then her mamma, sitting behind the coffee-urn "and 
looking solicitous, said : 

“ Poor Lillie, she studies so hard that she never feels 
well in the mornings. Kate, you’d better take a cup of 
coffee and a bit of toast to her room.” 

And Kate, who knew her young mistress a great deal 
too well to approach her with so poor a show of good 
eating, stopped in the kitchen and added a bit of steak 
and an omelet. 

Miss Lillie had the manners of a half-grown kitten ; she 
was just so lithe and purring, and soft, and lively. 


230 


A woman’s secret. 


Mr. Gladstone meeting her on the porch, with a pout 
on her lip, would say : 

“How now, Miss Lillie, what is that great pout for? 
Anything serious the matter?” 

“I should think there was, but I’m not going to tell 
you, for you’re a man and would laugh at me.” 

“For shame,. Miss Lillie, I never laughed at you in my 
life.” 

Thereupon she would pout and look up coyly, advance a 
step, retreat two, keeping up all the time a skirmishing fire 
from her eyes ; till, at last, it was ten chances to one that 
she managed to get behind the grape vine, and then Mr. 
Gladstone by way of entreaty, somehow got his hand on 
her arm or about her waist. He was an old friend, you 
know, and being very determined to find out the secret of 
that pout, pressed her so hard that she by and by whispered 
so low that he had to bend his car just in reach of her 
saucy curls to hear it, that there was to be a concert at the 
Hall next evening, and she could not go, for that clown, 
Sam Ainsworth had asked her, and her mamma had said 
he was not a proper person for hni to go with, and had 
forbidden her ever being seen with Moa anywhere. 

“ And I had to tell him a little fib io get rid of him. 
There, now, go away, you saucy mair . You" ve got it all ; but 
you-know I’d never have told you if you hadn’t made me.” 

“But, no,” says Mr. Gladstone, “you bav’n’t told me 
what the fib was.” 

“Oh! and never, never, never will,” sayo Miss Lillie. 
“You might go down on your knees to me and I 
wouldn’t.” 

But he don’t go down on his knees, and she d4>es tell him 
that she told Sam Ainsworth she was previously engaged; 
and then she actually cries a little. 

Whereupon, Mr. Gladstone begs her to comfoA herso*?, 
for it was no fib at all, as she is always previousB ' 


A woman’s secret. 


231 


to him ill all such cases; and then, in the humblest way in 
the world, as if it were the greatest possible favor, he asks 
her will she honor him by going with him; and she whispers 
in such a soft, purring way: 

“Yes, indeed, if mamma will allow.” 

Mamma does allow, and Miss Lillie is very highly 
gratified with the success of her strategy. 

So now I hope you understand what I meant by saying 
that one of the reasons for Miss Lillie’s prominence in the 
ranks of competitors was the fact that Mr. Gladstone was 
a man. 

The other lady was Miss Azarian Ridalhuber. This 
young woman was not a native of Wyndham, but an 
exotic, sent, with great care and some expense, fi’om a 
choice nook in Japonicadom, for the express purpose of 
some time blooming in the now chill and deserted bowers 
of the Gladstone mansion. 

It was a sad story. Miss Azarian thought; she always 
alluded to it, if at all, with downcast eyes, and a porten- 
tous sigh. The Ridalhubers had once been very wealthy. 
But losses came, and then failure, and then poor papa got 
into such sad ways, and mamma’s fortune, which really was 
quite large, only it was a very expensive family, three sons 
you know, was sadly strained to keep the house going. 
And so, though this was never hinted, this Miss Azarian 
had been sent out to these rural shades to spend the 
summer with her cousin, Mrs. Evans, the minister’s lady, 
and, if possible, make a brilliant match. Of course, looking 
the ground over, she judged that she had a prescriptive right 
to Mr. Gladstone, and began to lay her plans, with intense 
scorn of all rustic rivals. 

Mr. Evans was a ripe scholar, a Christian of deep 
spiritual experience, and a genial, excellent man. It was a 
little doubtful whether his wife was as thoroughly divorced 
as himself from “the world, the flesh and the devil.” At 


232 


A woman’s secret. 


any rate, she still cherished a kindly pride in the glories 
of her family, who were nearly connected with the Ridal- 
hubers; and had taken great pains, and been at some 
expense of exact verity, to produce the impression in 
Wyndham, that her cousin. Miss Azarian, was a belle, an 
heiress, and a most distinguished ornament of the very 
highest circle of New York society, and had no motive what- 
ever in secluding herself in Wyndham, when she might be 
leading captive the millionaires who haunt the summer 
watering places, except her tender affection for her devoted 
cousin Elisa, or, as Miss Azarian always pronounced it, 
Elise. 

Miss Ridalhuber certainly had some claims to the appel- 
lation of a beauty. She was of medium height, with a 
slight figure, and a pale, wax-like complexion. Her eyes 
and hair were a handsome shade of brown, and well 
matched. Her features were regular and fine, and the 
tone of her manners corresponded precisely to the tone of 
her face. She was refined, feminine, and imperturbably 
self-possessed. 

These two, Mrs. Evans and her cousin Azarian, sat in 
the little parlor of the parsonage, engaged, each of them, 
with their embroidery, and chatting after that easy, unre- 
strained fashion, which the female heart so much delights 
in. About the fashions, I think. 

“Azarian, how did it happen that you had the courage 
to get one of those new summer bonnets? I dread to have 
you take it out of the bandbox, the gentlemen do so 
ridicule them.” 

“Indeed!” said Miss Ridalhuber, deliberately counting, 
“ one, two, three, four of black, and five, six of the red. 
Cousin Elise, do you happen to remember any fashion for 
the last ten years, and I presume it has been the same for 
ten centuries, which the gentlemen didn’t ridicule? Why, 
it is a thing to be expected.” 


A woman’s secret. 


238 


“That is very true,” said Mrs. Evans. “If the bonnets 
are large enough to cover the face, then they are hideous, 
and scoops, coal scuttles, etc., are too graceful to be 
compared with them. If they are small and set off the 
head. Punch immediately suggests that the next fashion 
will be to have the bonnet carried behind the lady on a 
waiter. If di-esses are made long, they sweep the mud of 
the streets; if short, the ladies are getting impatient to 
expose their ankles. If the cloaks are loose, they are 
dowdy and inelegant; if tight j they make it impossible to 
distinguish between males and females on the streets. 
When men will be so inconsistent, it is foolish ever to heed 
them; but, then, one can’t help it. Now, Mark exchanges 
with Mr. Linscott, you know, on Sunday, and couldnH 
you put off bringing out the summer bonnet, till after 
that?” 

“Next Sunday will be the first in June,” said Miss 
Ridalhuber, composedly. “I never wore a spring bonnet 
in June in my life. I think Mr. Linscott’s coming a very 
good reason for bringing out .the new one. It will make 
an impression on him, see if it don’t.”' 

“Of course you know best,” said Mrs. Evans, “but, then, 
I own I have my fears. But here comes Gladstone up the 
walk. Look your sweetest, Aza.” 

Miss Ridalhuber did not seem in the least to heed the 
admonition, but went on with her counting as if nothing 
were about to happen. Well she might; for her toilet 
that day had cost her an hour’s effort, in anticipation of 
this very event. Her liair was dressed with the skill of a 
French coiffeur, and with a simplicity and taste which 
that dignitary would never have imparted to it; her dress 
was lady-like and elegant, with nothing noticeable about it, 
except its richness, and a rose-tinted ribbon at her throat, 
which lighted her pale face with just the faintest and 
most becoming glow. 

K2 


234 


A woman’s secret. 


As Mr. Gladstone entered, she received him with the most 
elegant grace and composure, and allowing him to open the 
conversation, followed his lead with skill and intelligence, at 
the same time carefully preserving her own subordination. 
Ah ! she was well trained to her part, was Miss Azarian. 

She touched a finer key than ever had vibrated in Mr. 
Gladstone’s soul before. He was deeply impressed ; he 
had the same kind of admii*ation for her that he would 
have had for a fine painting or a fine statue, with the 
added warmth which her feminine graces inspired. He 
sat for an hour drawing her out, yielding himself to the 
charm of her liquid voice. Finally, she sang for him. She 
was thoroughly trained, and at his especial request she 
sang “Kathleen Mavourneen.” There came a moisture 
into Mr. Gladstone’s eyes, and a trembling about his heart- 
strings such as he had not felt for years. 

As he went out, the dusk was coming on, rosy and lucent; 
and, from the bush at the door, he broke a half blown rose- 
bud, and said, with a grace into which his honest heart 
infused a something which assured Miss Ridalhuber that 
it was not wholly an idle compliment: 

“ Will you accept it. Miss Ridalhuber? It will bloom 
more worthily for you, than even for the stars outside here.” 

She took it with a tremulous sigh that was not all 
feigned. Few women could resist Mr. Gladstone’s eyes, 
when he chose to make them efibctive, simply because 
they were honest eyes. 

As he walked down the flower-scented path, the bright- 
ness of the dusk fading into cooler tints of pearl and gray, 
his thought still lingered about Miss Ridalhuber. 

“ If one could only be certain,” he said to himself, “ that 
she had a heart and there went a little thrill through his 
veins as he thought of the delicious abandon with which 
he had seen Lillie Meredith throw herself into her mother’s 
anns. 


A woman’s secret. 


235 


“She’s a little goose,” he said, “but she’s a very fond 
one and there came up bitter, regretful memories, and 
a firm determination, whatever else he did, not- to marry 
a woman who had no heart. 

In the midst of these reflections he reached the village 
store, and saw Mr. Darrell on the steps. The sight at once 
recalled business to his mind. 

“ Good evening, Darrell,” he said ; “ I want to ask you 
if that young lady clerk of yours would do copying forme. 
My clerk has left me, and, if I could get a good copyist, I 
shouldn’t need another, just now. Would she favor me, 
do you think ? ” 

“ Very likely. I’ll ask her. She writes a good hand for 
your purpose, and you’ll find her very neat and e.?^act, and 
tolerably rapid.” 

“Just the thing. If she is agreeable, you may ask her 
to call at my office to-morrow.” 

“ I’ll do so,” said Mr. Darrell, and they parted. 

The doctor was just unhitching the old gray, preparatory 
to starting home with his evening’s mail. Seeing Mr. 
Gladstone, his eye at once took in the fact that he was 
dressed for calling. 

“ H’m ! ” said the doctor, partly as a guess, partly to lead 
the conversation in a direction that suited him. “ Been 
(Jown — to the — minister’s — I s’pose ; been down to the 
minister’s ? ” 

Mr. Gladstone assented. 

“ That Miss Ridalhuber is a good looking girl,” said the 
doctor; “pretty — good — looking; but she hasn’t much 
money. The last time I was in New York, I asked some 
questions about her. The family has had money, but lost 
the most of it. The father drinks; the sons drive fast 
horses. The daughters have got to get married. If they 
can’t marry in the city, where they are known, they must 
go to the country, where they are not known. She’s a 


236 


A woman’s secret. 


pretty fair looking girl, though. Sings well; sings — well; 
but — there — isn’t — so — much — money — there — as folks 
think.” 

By this time the doctor was seated in his chaise, and 
had taken up the reins. Mr. Gladstone made some remark 
about the weather, to which the doctor assented with a 
“Yes — yes. Go — ’long — Dorothy.” 

The doctor had never told this story of his about Miss 
Azarian before — would never tell it again, perhaps. He 
knew very well that Gladstone would not repeat it. How 
did he know so well, when and where to drop those few 
words, sure of their taking effect ? Mr. Gladstone himself 
wondered, but could not tell. The truth was just this. The 
instant the doctor’s eye rested on Mr. Gladstone’s white 
waistcoat, this train of thought ran through his brain: 
“ Been to see a woman ; wouldn’t put on a white waistcoat 
for any Wyndham woman. Miss Ridalhuber. He’s free, 
means marriage. She means marriage, too. Pll tell;'^'* 
and the doctor did tell; but Mr. Gladstone was a little 
farther gone than the doctor had calculated, and found 
himself speculating as he walked home: 

“ Poor girl ! with her refinement and her quiet ways, she 
must have a hard time of it, if the doctor is right, and he 
always is, about those matters. If a man were to take her 
out of such a home, and give her wealth, and position, and 
love, wouldn’t she be grateful and love him in return ? ” 

Mr. Gladstone thought she would. 


A woman’s secret. 


28T 


XXIII. 

MISS ridalhuber’s summer bonnet. 

Reba rested her head upon her hand and smiled, when 
Mr. Darrell laid before her Mr. Gladstone’s proposition 
concerning the copying. She did not tell any one what 
that smile meant, but it is very possible that it had some 
connection with the scenes of her previous acquaintance 
with Mr. Gladstone. She was silent for a moment. 

“ I didn’t give him any encouragement,” said Mr. Darrell, 

except to recommend you for the work ; and I shall say 
nothing more to you, than that Gladstone is a gentleman, 
and will treat you with the utmost respect ; and if you can 
oblige him, it would be pleasing to me.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Darrell,” she said, looking up at him. 
“ I know Mr. Gladstone quite well already, or did, some 
years ago. He must have forgotten the prejudices of his 
family against me.” 

“ Reba, I think Mr. Gladstone buried a good deal in that 
grave over yonder, besides the body of his wife. I always 
liked, and I am sure you will no longer dislike him, if you 
will only hold yourself amenable to circumstances. You 
don’t look pleased. Shall I tell him, no ? ” 

Reba had at first felt a strong disinclination to the 
arrangement, but, just at the instant that she was about 
to say so, a sudden impulse controlled her, as we are all 
sensible of being controlled at certain times in our lives, 
and she said: 

“ Xo ; I’ll try it. If I do not like it, it is easy enough to 
say so afterwards. You may tell Mr. Gladstone that I will 
call at his office, as he proposes.” 

Reba did call, in that instance; but afterwards, Mr. 
Gladstone, seeming to be struck with the improprietv of 


238 


A woman’s secret. 


treating her with less than the courtesy he would have 
bestowed upon his most dignified and refined lady friend, 
always delivered the manuscript to her, either at her desk 
at Mr. Darrell’s office, or at the house. 

It was an evening, early in June. A cold north wind 
prevailed, and the little circle in Mrs. Darrell’s parlor had 
di-awn around a bright wood fire upon the hearth, and 
were already settled at their evening’s work, when a visitor 
was announced. It was Mr. Leslie Slade, who had a way 
of now and then calling at his employer’s house, mostly 
as a pleasant social formality, but incidentally with a view 
of making himself agreeable to Miss Maude, now a tall, 
handsome girl, in her sixteenth year. 

Concerning this same Mr. Slade, there had been more 
than one animated discussion in the Darrell household. 
Laura had said to her husband : 

“ Ralph, now that our girls are growing up to woman- 
hood, I do protest against that young man being allowed 
to visit here. He is not a fit associate for Maude, and it 
would be a great satisfaction to me if you would give him 
to understand that we think so.” 

“ Well, my dear,” Ralph had replied, “I don’t know; 
few young men are immaculate. Slade is of good family, 
and good breeding. If we begin to make distinctions, it 
is difficult to tell where we shall end. If he were at 
all particular in his attentions to Maude, that would be 
difiTerent. Of course I should interfere. But, to tell the 
truth, he is useful to me in a business way, and I don’t 
like to offend him.” 

“ But, Ralph, when a young man’s immoralities are the 
talk of the town, I am sure it need not be difficult to draw 
some line, which shall leave him outside of it. If you like 
him in a business way, that is your affair, and I have 
nothing to say. But, then, if you are supreme in your 
office, I ought to be equally so in my parlor.” 


A woman’s secret. 


239 


“Very well,” said Ralph, “ quarrel you, with Slade, if 
you will, but don’t ask me to do it.” 

And so the matter rested ; Laura only waiting for a good 
opportunity. On this especial evening, Maude was not 
present, and when the young man’s form darkened the 
doorway, Laura formed a resolve, which she found means 
to execute before the evening was over. 

A few minutes later Mr. Gladstone dropped in, upon an 
errand to Reba. She was sitting a little apart from the 
rest, sewing by the evening lamp, so that Mr. Gladstone, 
as he seated himself, after delivering his papers to her, 
found himself near the chimney, with Rebecca in the 
corner of the room, at his left. Mrs. Darrell sat exactly 
opposite him, in her handsome easy chair, while in front 
of the fire sat the master of the house, and Mr. Slade. 

Somehow, into the light social chat, which at first 
prevailed, there drifted an allusion to Miss Ridalhuber’s 
summer bonnet. 

“ It was very outri^"* Mr. Slade insisted ; “ quite hideous, 
in fact.” 

Mr. Gladstone thought it had a stylish look ; but, then, it 
was certainly a little too striking for a town like Wynd- 
ham. 

Mrs. Darrell had no opinion of her own to offer. She 
had never considered herself authority in such matters, 
but she had heard one gentleman, at least, admire the 
bonnet, in almost unlimited phrase. He had characterized 
it at as “ handsome,” “ elegant,” “ quite out of the common 
order,” and had asserted, that, in point of taste. Miss 
Ridalhuber was “ a lady altogether to be admired.” 

“Who was that?” cried Mr. Gladstone. 

“You, Darrell?” asked Slade. 

“ IHot I, indeed,” said Mr. Darrell. 

“It was Mr. Linscott,” elucidated Mrs. Darrell. At 
which there was a general exclamation. 


240 


A woman’s secret. 


Reba only adjusted her sewing, and smiled. 

From that, the chat flowed on to woman’s dress, in 
general. Of course the gentlemen waxed eloquent con- 
cerning the extravagance of women, their fickleness, their 
bad taste, their want of modesty and all the other good 
old-fashioned graces, after the manner of men in general. 

But Mr. Slade was especially emphatic. At the close 
of a long tirade upon the extravagance of women, he 
exclaimed : 

“ Why, a man must be independently rich, now, before 
he dares to marry. What could a man, on a salary, like 
myself, for instance, do with a wife?” 

Mrs. Darrell’s time had come. There was no cloud upon 
her brow ; her voice was very calm and even, but there 
was a “sense of thunder in it,” nevertheless. 

“ Mr. Slade,” she said, “ would it cost you more to support 
your wife, than it does to support your mistress ? ” 

Mr. Slade grew red, then pale, then red again, and would 
have looked indignant, had the blow been a whit less 
severe. As it was, he presented a very limp appearance, 
and merely stammered that that was a subject he did not 
like to discuss with ladies, and taking his hat, bowed him- 
self out of the room. 

There might have been an awkward pause, if Mr. Glad- 
stone had not come to the rescue, by saying good naturedly : 

“Mrs. Darrell, I see that the Woman’s Rights Convention 
is to meet very soon, and I suggest that the ladies of this 
neighborhood send you as a delegate.” 

“With very sincere respect for that body,” said Laura, 
“ I must still decline the honor of a seat in their meetings. 
When I take the field, I shall not join the mounted 
dragoons, but rather organize myself as a light artillery 
company for independent service.” 

“The papers wickedly say,” said Mr. Darrell, “that ‘the 
dear old creatures intend to demand the sufl&’age.’ ” 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


241 


“If women had the right of suffrage,” said Rebecca, “1 
think the papers would, at least, learn to he civil.” 

“Why, Miss March,” said Mr. Gladstone, “would you 
like to vote? ” 

The tone was precisely the one in which he would have 
said to an elephant: “My dear sir, would you like to 
dance ? ” 

She replied with an inflection equally significant: 

“Mr. Gladstone, I shall never go down on my knees for 
the privilege of trailing my skirts through the world’s 
dirty work. For woman to take part in politics as they 
have hitherto been conducted, would be a condescension. 
But I think it requires no very remarkable prophetic 
insight, to discern a prospect, that by the time men have 
practiced for a few years longer, admitting all that is low 
and coarse and debased to the polls, they will have brought 
politics to such a muddle that they will be thankful to 
entreat the more refined powers of the nation to come to 
their rescue. In such a case, I would not be hard-hearted.” 

Mr. Gladstone raised his eyebrows a trifie. 

“I am afraid,” he said, “that it would be uncourteous 
to tell you how well we of the male sort have so far 
managed without you.” 

“The question is,” said Laura, “whether you have 
managed as well as, all things considered, you ought to 
have done. Whether, in excluding women from politics, you 
have not done yourselves and the nation’s aftairs a wrong, 
corresponding to that which is manifest wherever else the 
humane and unselfish element of our common nature is 
excluded. The politics of a great nation ought to be 
something broad, unselfish, elevating ; but, until within the 
past few years, when women have, by force of their innate 
persistency, rather than because of much courtesy on the 
part of men, made their voices heard in public matters, 
have not the affairs of this nation been managed in a 
L 


242 


A woman’s secret. 


narrow, unenlightened, illiberal spirit, attended by pro- 
verbial venality and corruption. The publication of Uncle 
Tom’s Cabin, marks an era in our politics. It was followed 
by public meetings in which women participated as spec- 
tators; and at last by large, intelligent and enthusiastic 
assemblages, who listened with delight to the utterances 
of a woman upon purely political questions. From that 
hour, politics took a more celestial hue.” 

“It seems to me,” said Mr. Darrell, “that right here 
comes in a very useful distinction. So long as the politics 
of the country had reference mostly to building railroads, 
conducting finances, and waging war, there was little 
cause for the interference of women ; but now that we are 
becoming so advanced in civilization, that legislation is as 
much as anything a matter of doing justice and loving 
mercy, the women of the nation may justly have as much 
voice and influence as the men.” 

“Yes, but if women vote, they must also sit upon jurors’ 
seats and judges’ benches. I hope I may not live to 
practice law in that time.” 

“ Now, Mr. Gladstone, are you talking badinage, or are 
you talking sense?” said Laura. “ Suppose ten years ago,_ 
when your dear mother was living, and my mother was in 
her prime — ” 

“Oh ! but I’m not talking about such women.” 

“ It is precisely about such women that I am talking. 
It is the intention of the law that none but good men 
shall sit upon a jury; Avhy not, therefore, particularize 
good women.” 

“But, as a general thing, the intention of the law is 
Avofully defeated ; especially in large towns, where jurors 
are drawn either from among the loafers and hangers-on 
about a court room, or else from among business men, 
whose time is so valuable to them, that they will agree to 
anything rather than be kept waiting for an hour. The 


A woman’s secret. 243 

matter is bad enough now; don’t ask us to complicate it 
by admitting women.” 

“It seems to me that such a state of things as you 
represent could hardly be made worse by the admission 
of women.” 

“ Oh4 yes, it would; we should never get a verdict then, 
for no one could possibly imagine that twelve women 
would ever agree.” 

“If I wished to be witty, I would say, so much the 
better. If such difficulties beset law suits, fewer people 
would engage in them; which, hoAvever it might annoy the 
lawyers, would be better for mankind at large. But, to 
speak seriously, it is certain that women cannot find 
essential justice at the hands of juries composed entirely 
of men. Reading up this subject the other day, I was 
struck with an observation of Chancellor Kent. ‘The 
law,’ he says, ‘makes no provision for the relief of a blind 
credulity, however it may have been iwoduced.’ That 
single sentence pronounces the doom of woman under 
the law. One of her distinguishing characteristics, and 
the one from which spring nearly all the wrongs that 
man so relentlessly inflicts upon her honor, is that blind 
credulity concerning the man whom she loves, which 
nature has implanted in her bosom expressly for the man’s 
true use arid benefit. The great majority of married 
women will testify that, to that loving credulity which 
helped so powerfully to soften and abate the shocks and 
disappointments of the first few months or years of married 
life, their after happiness was mainly owing. Yet, it is by 
means of this very trait that the licentious man works the 
ruin of the woman whose love he has sought and won. 
But in those cases, it is notorious that the law falls utterly 
short of affording any adequate redress. The helpless 
woman once betrayed, is not only forever undone, but 
there can be no justice meted out to her betrayer; nor will 


244 


A woman’s secret. 


there ever be till intelligent, conscientious women are 
permitted to assist, both in making and administering the 
laws.” 

“But, Mrs. Darrell, there are penalties for these offences.” 

“Yes, so far as a man M injured by them, he can gain 
redress. The father can sue for the loss of the daughter’s 
services. The dominant sex must not be let to injure each 
other. The tax payers, too, must not be mulcted. The 
man must pay just so much for the support of his offspring 
as shall suffice to keep it from the poor-house. But for the 
woman’s ii-reparable loss of honor, of reputation, of all 
that makes life dear or desirable, there is no shadow of 
redress. If anything more than this were needed to show 
the selfishness, the utter incompetency of men to make just 
and equal laws for the whole race, it is to be found in the 
fact, which every mother knows, that it is absolutely neces- 
sary that she should train her daughters to regard the 
whole male sex, outside the very narrowest limit of the 
home ties, as the rapacious and perpetual foes of their 
personal honor. Men make great ado because women are 
publicly uncivil to them in the matter of accommodaiion 
in railroad cars, and all crowded public conveyances; but 
it is the just penalty which they pay for belonging to a sex 
which so persistently upholds the right of every man to be 
a villain.” 

“My dear,” said Mr. Darrell, “that is very strong 
language. I beg that you will reconsider it. I know a 
great many men who live lives as pure as any woman.” 

“No doubt of it, and all honor to them. But that men 
in general are as pure in their lives as women, is notori- 
ously untrue. Innocent women are seldom the seducers 
of male virtue, whereas we all know how common it is for 
men to use every power they possess — money, intrigue, 
the tenderest arts at their command, to compass the ruin 
of an innocent woman, and the fact of their having done 


A woman’s secret. 


245 


BO is no disgrace among their peers. Moreover, the senti- 
ment in favor of licentiousness among men is so strong 
that few men, even among those of immaculate lives, 
would not consider the accusuation of always having been 
pure^ a detraction from their manly attributes. ‘ Oh ! we 
know about these things, we’ve seen the world,’ is their 
language, and their manner purposely leads to the suspicion 
that even now they might not be proof against temptation. 
Worse even than this, is the recklessness with which 
young men, mere boys, coming fresh from the pure influ- 
ence of mothers, who, perhaps, have had too much rever- 
ence for the innocence and purity of youth to open their 
eyes naturally and healthfully to the wickedness of the 
world, are inducted into the grossest and most revolting 
forms of vice. And the process is so universal that men 
of character and sound principles shrink from interfering, 
on account of the sneers and ridicule which they would 
inevitably encounter. Admit women more freely to com- 
mercial circles, to public meetings; give them power to 
speak and act in this matter on an equal basis with men, 
and society would soon undergo a puriflcation.” 

“That there is too much truth in these charges, Mrs. 
Darrell, no man who knows the world can deny. But, do 
you imagine that pure and delicate women can mingle in 
the cesspool of political tilth, without debasement?” 

“ If, in the rudest scenes of war, there ar^ offices which 
the gentlest woman may undertake without derogating 
from her high position, surely there ought to be nothing 
in the peaceful administration of public affairs which need 
shock or contaminate her. But, admitting the debase- 
ment which has fallen upon politics, mainly, as I believe, 
through the exclusion of women therefrom, the necessity 
of womanly interference becomes only the more apparent. 
Conti'ast the political meetings at which men have been 
the only speakers, with those addressed by Anna Dicken- 


24G 


A woman’s secret. 


son and attended by thousands of the most cultivated and 
intelligent women in the nation. And yet, no meetings 
were ever more enthusiastic, more eifective for every 
pure and good purpose of politics, than these have been. 
Wherever pure women go, they inspire in men a chivalry, 
a delicacy, a refinement of bearing, which is impossible to 
them under any other circumstances.” 

“Oh! of course, the world has always acknowledged 
that women were superior to men in certain ways. That 
is no new ti*uth at all.” 

“Yes, in a certain highly figurative and ideal sense, as 
the very farthest stretch of poets and lovers’ license, I 
admit that the world has recognized the claims of woman 
in this respect. Yet, with strange obtuseness of intellect, 
man has ever resisted, to the utmost, the embodiment of 
this ideal truth in fact. He will freely admit that his wife 
is his better half, but will fight to the death her claim to 
put her goodness into practice in any wide or general 
way.” 

“Let us console ourselves,” said Rebecca. “Most new 
truths in mind and morals crawl out of the shell of some 
old one. The hub-bub is always great, concerning which is 
the true bread divine, the old worn-out form, or the new, 
living, moving, sentient being; but nobody yet ever knew 
the shell to prevail.” 

“But this matter of self-arrogation on the part of woman 
is, I think, serious,” said Mr. Gladstone. “It seems to me 
that the modesty of women is at once impugned when 
they begin to assert their own superiority.” 

“They certainly have a forcible example in the conduct 
of men for the past six thousand years,” replied Mrs. 
Darrell. “But, more than that, it is to be remembered 
that, while modesty is a grace, justice is a virtue, and self- 
justice the very base of all virtues. Until women can 
consistently and conscientiously assert their own rights 


A woman’s secret. 


247 


and dignities, they will never be in a position to exercise 
tliat influence and authority in the world’s aflairs, which 
the best good of the race demands that they should 
exercise.” 

“It is the way of reaching that position, .about which 
we differ. I certainly honor those noble women who have 
gone at work silently, and achieved such triumphs in art 
and science that men have been forced to accord them 
equality, a great deal more than I can those br.aggart 
females who go about proclaiming to the world the equality 
of the sexes, and never doing a thing, beyond perhaps 
writing a stale pamphlet or two, or issuing an annual report 
th.at nobody ever read, to prove their assertions.” 

“Speech is silver, silence golden. I know it well. But 
even Solomon framed his apples of gold in pictures of silver; 
and those apples of gold, what were they, but ‘a word fitly 
spoken ! ’ And by and by, amid all this clamor of talking, 
we shall hear that divinely spoken word. Till then we must 
have patience with broken utterances and half truths, which 
are like taper lights; good and useful in the darkness, but 
shrinking into their true insignificance before the splendor 
of the dawm.” 

“ Gladstone,” said Mr. Darrell, “ if all my wife claims is 
true, I should suppose the Mormons must be the most 
spiritually minded men living. What must be the efiect on 
a man of having from ten to forty priests and spiritual 
helpers in the house, eh ? ” 

“Very much the same, I should imagine,” said Laura, 
laughing, “ as going to church for edification, and hearing 
twenty sermons all preached at once. I don’t think tliat 
joke amounts to much, except as an excellent specimen of 
the kind of argument of which most men think the subject 
worthy.” 

“ But it really does seem to me, Mrs. Darrell, joking 
apart, that these new doctrines of yours upset, altogether, 


248 


A woman’s secret. 


the good old ideas of woman as a domestic being; the 
helper of man, the ministering angel of the fireside, the 
meek, gentle, loving refuge of all the troubled and oppressed 
spirits that seek the household hearth for shelter.” 

“ Not by any means. I insist on all these points as 
strongly as you can. But I wish you especially to notice, 
that the happiest marriages, and the happiest homes, the 
world over, are those in which the woman is revered 
and trusted as the household divinity, instead of being 
debased and crushed by ancient laws and superstitions.” 

“ When all the arguments for a proposed reform,” said 
Reba, “ are based upon dee^), underlying principles, such 
as Justice, Truth and Love; and all the arguments against 
it are drawn from superficial circumstances, precedent, 
prejudice, expediency, appearances, it is easy to guess 
which side is strongest, and must in the end prevail.” 

“But I do not conceive that the arguments in this case 
are so shallow as you intimate. If we seek the authority 
of literature, it is all on the side of the traditional idea of 
woman. From Homer down, she is ever the creature of 
inconsistencies ; the finer, yet the weaker being.” 

“ Of inconsistencies; exactly so, because, viewed from 
man’s standpoint, it is impossible to harmonize woman’s 
endowments with her calling. From the true view-point, 
she is the most harmonious and perfectly adapted being on 
the face of the earth. But let us look at this matter in 
detail. 

“ The early pagan poets were religionists as well, so that 
all through their works are to be found intimations of the 
spiritual endowments of woman. In Iphigenia and Cas- 
sandra, the idea is alloyed with materialism. The Medeas, 
the Hecates, the Clytemnestras of ancient Greek tragedy, 
are revolting to modern taste, simply because they lack the 
tender spiritual element which we instinctively demand in 
the true development of a female character. The Alcestis 


A woman’s secret. 


249 


of Euripides pleases us in proportion as it is more true to 
this standard; and in the Antigone of Sophocles we recog- 
nize the perfection of female character, because the supreme 
grace and power of the soul assert themselves with a noble 
defiance of all masculine trammels and enactments. In 
her magnificent disdain of Creon’s boasted laws, her sub- 
lime appeal to the absolute fiat of Heaven, and her uncon- 
querable allegiance to it, the character reaches its highest 
pitch ; and it is in this attitude that it has stood out separate 
and single from all the creations of the heathen poets, for 
more than two thousand years, as fresh, and glowing, and 
life-like to-day, as when the plastic essence was fashioned 
by the Master’s hand.” 

“And I like to think,” said Reba, “ that the conception 
of Antigone belonged to the best moralist among the 
heathen poets. It was Sophocles who wrote that magni- 
ficent strophe, which I learned years ago, at my father’s 
knee : ‘ Oh ! for an absolute purity of word and deed, 

according to those sublime laws which have the heavens 
for their birth-place, and God for their Author; which the 
dissolutions of mortal nature cannot change, nor time bury 
in oblivion. For the divinity is mighty within them, and 
waxeth not old ! ’ There is not the parallel of that senti- 
ment in the whole range of heathen poetry. It is ever the 
broadest and ripest minds which hold the most advanced 
views concerning woman.” 

“ You have certainly, like a good lawyer, made the best 
of a bad case,” said Mr. Gladstone ; “ but it is still true that 
the condition of woman, under the rule of the ancient 
Greeks and Romans, was that of a slave, as both history 
and literature abundantly testify.” 

“ The old Etruscan women, the mothers of the Roman 
Republic, were held the equals of their husbands, as the 
sleeping effigies upon their tombs to-day bear sweet, though 
silent witness; and the fame of Spartan mothers is still 


250 


A woman’s secret. 


‘ familiar in our ears as household words.’ It was only in 
the later and more dissolute stages of the old civilization 
that women were held as slaves ; and then the races so 
holding them were themselves ready for destruction. You 
see, God has never left the sex without a witness of its 
grand possibilities, and the promise of its future develop- 
ment. Did you ever think about the causes which led to 
the decay and fall of those ancient nations?” 

“ No doubt the condition in which they held women had 
much to do Avith their dissolution. No one will deny that 
where the mothers are slaves, the sons cannot be heroes.” 

“ But there is a significance not only in the manner, but 
in the time of their downfall. Christ had been born of a 
Aurgin, and there was no longer room in the foremost places 
of the Av^orld for a nation which did not reverence women. 
So, not only Avere these nations swept from existence, but 
their destruction was accomplished by a chosen agent. 
Far aAvay, among the forests of the north, God had raised 
up a people, strong, valiant, irresistible, the very foundation 
of Avhose sturdy morality, the one written and inerasable 
article of their code of morals was reverence for women; 
and the Goth and the Saxon conquered and possessed the 
earth, because the mother of their children was also the 
divinity of their home.” 

“ The philosophy of history gets a new reading at your 
hands, Mrs. Darrell,” said Mr. Gladstone; “but we are 
wandering from our subject of the testimony of literature 
concerning the character of woman. I am waiting to 
remind you that Shakspeare, and Milton, and Goethe, all 
take the same view of Avoman ; all represent her as the 
weaker vessel.” 

“ Thank you for recalling me. The pagan poets, as I have 
shown you, had some glimmerings of inspiration upon the 
subject, and are to-day admired just in proportion as they 
recognized the native nobility of woman. The Christian 


A woman’s secret. 


251 


poets at first struck out boldly into this theme, and 
sounded a fuller chord than had ever been struck before. 
But the German Reformers were essentially masculine 
and unpoetical in the tone of their minds; and swept out 
with the Mother of God and the sweet saints’ faces, much 
that was elevating and truly spiritualizing from religion. 
Literature was quick to feel the new influence. The spirit 
of the Troubadours, of Dante, of Petrarch, of Tasso, 
underwent a change. Milton’s women are simply abor- 
tions, and are so recognized by critics. Shakspeare’s 
women, as confessed by the mass of his commentators, 
are inferior to his men, for the reason that, noble and 
beautiful as many of them are, they are mere female men ; 
modifications more or less distinct of the masculine char- 
acter, and never so much as intimating the possibility of 
that spiritual insight and illumination, which is the 
peculiar characteristic of the woman soul. Even in Queen 
Katherine, who is, perhaps, the strongest of his female 
characters in that direction, the religious sentiment is 
simply a grace, a noble habit, becoming her queendom as 
its ermine did, and never the mightiest impulse of the 
human soul; the sublimest representative of the Divine 
nature with which humanity is endowed. As an artistic 
conception of woman, the Antigone of Sophocles stands 
far before any Shakspearean female of them all. Goethe, 
by reason of his constant intercourse with women, an 
intercourse which, if it were too indiscriminate to be 
justified by prudence or virtue, must have been more or 
less sympathizing and appreciative, misses by a hair’s 
breadth, the luminous secret of woman’s super-masculine 
endowments ; and that plainly, because the sensuality of 
the man had blunted the fine perceptions of the poet.” 

“But as women of genius have appeared, a new and 
better light is thrown upon the subject. In Jane Eyre 
and Lucy Snow, lacking, as they do, the harmony and 


252 


A woman’s secret. 


grace which Shakspeare’s or Goethe’s touch would have 
conferred upon them, you still catch distant glimpses of 
that horizon beyond a horizon which marks a woman’s life 
as distinct from a man’s ; and in Aurora Leigh and the 
Duchess May, those uncertain apparitions become glowing 
and delightful certainties. Woman is no longer only a 
modification; a parasite ; but a distinct, independent soul; 
ill fitted, it is true, for the rougher uses of this material 
world, but all the more gloriously endowed with the 
spiritual graces which light up this dim twilight sphere of 
existence, and make possible here below some faint con- 
ception of heaven’s inefiable glory.” 

“I admire your eloquence, Mrs. Darrell; but I still 
insist that, at least in regard to Shakspeare, I cannot 
yield the point. To have made Juliet pious would not 
have improved her to my taste; and if Lady Macbeth had 
gone into a convent, she would have ceased to be Lady 
Macbeth. Why, Mrs. Darrell, that sleep-walking scene 
in Macbeth is worth pages of religious philosophy.” 

“It is an exquisitely truthful and beautiful portrayal of 
the terrors of an outraged conscience; but do not, I pray 
you, confound moral with spiritual issues. Obfuscation 
of the masculine intellect upon this point is not, indeed, 
uncommon. The strong faith in the Unseen which char- 
acterizes woman, has always been looked upon by men as 
weakness and fanaticism. It is not the least evidence of 
the genius of Sophocles, that, when Antigone puts her 
faith in the Unseen Arm against the tyrant of Athens 
with the world at his back, Creon cries out that she is 
mad, was born mad. It is the way of the sex. They are 
sadly deficient in spiritual comprehension.” 

“Joan of Arc,” said Reba, “is another instance. She was 
burned for witchcraft by the very men whom she had saved 
from a great calamity, because they utterly failed to com- 
prehend the sanctity of the power by which she wrought.” 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


253 


“ But, ladies, I must beg leave to remind you that there 
have been men in all ages — poets, prophets, teachers — who 
have equaled any of your sex in the development of the 
inspirational gift.” 

“We are most happy to be so reminded. The argument 
is simply, that while in the male sex the intuitional gift is 
exceptional, and mostly accompanied by what is rightly 
termed a feminine organization, in the female sex it is 
general ; and the very fact that so few such men have 
been able to gain recognition and appreciation from the 
age in which they lived, the majority of them dying on 
the cross, at the stake, in prison, in exile, or in want; is 
sufficient proof that the inspirational gift of woman could 
not safely be developed and set free of the world in a 
rudimentary stage of the race. But since Tennyson and 
Longfellow are acknowledged by the generation in which 
they live, instead of starving in a garret, while their books 
were left to rot on the booksellers’ shelves; and even 
Browning is neither crucified nor stoned, it is not, perhaps, 
too much to infer that the day has arrived when woman 
may safely lift up her voice in the market-place, and 
prophesy and preach, without fear of excommunication or 
martyrdom.” 

“ I abandon the attempt to defend myself on my own 
responsibility,” said Mr. Gladstone, laughing; “and fall 
back upon the logic of another. An English writer in 
one of the reviews, makes use of an argument to me 
new and somewhat striking. I cannot, of course, quote 
literally, but it amounts to this. In studying the different 
classes of the animal creation, it becomes evident that 
the progress from lower to higher is not direct, but, so to 
speak, wave-like. That is, that the culmination of the 
higher faculties precedes the highest structural type. For 
instance, among quadrupeds, the horse and the fox-hound 
are nobler than the baboon, yet the baboon is nearer man. 


254 


A woman’s secret. 


From tins it is argued that woman, though nearer the 
angels than man, is still his inferior in intelligence.” 

“Now, Ihat,” said Reba, “I consider a gratuitous insult.” 

But Mrs. Darrell smiled. 

“Let us be patient, my dear,” she said, “with these 
superior beings. When they get careering on their 
boasted steed of Reason, they make small account of 
such trilling circumstances as women and facts. Let us 
thank them, in the first place, for according to us that 
structural superiority which we have so long claimed in 
vain. For the rest, I must beg you to listen to a womanly 
statement of the case. 

“Whatever may be the law of precedence in tho lower 
order of creation, in the highest class it seems to me to 
be very plain. The distinguishing characteristic of this 
class is not Reason, as Dr. Abercrombie, than whom is no 
higher authority on the subject of intellectual phenomena, 
virtually declares, when he admits that if the argument for 
immortality be predicated upon Reason, then can no man 
exclude the brutes therefrom. But it is a sense of moral 
accountability and worship. 

“ Now, in this class, spanning the entire space between 
the brute creation and the Uncreated, there are three 
orders — Man, Woman and Angels. We are scripturally 
informed that man was made a little lower than the angels. 
Will anybody pretend that man or woman reaches the limit 
of created purity, leaving to the angels only a structural 
superiority ? I think that is absurd on the face of it.” 

“ But I don’t see that your reasoning, after all, bears 
directly upon the relative position of men and women ; 
since it is just as easy to say. Women, Men and Angels, 
as Men, Women and Angels.” 

“ Your friend of the review admits, by the terms of his 
argument, the structural superiority of woman. But if he 
did not, the laws of comparative anatomy settle the point. 


A woman’s secret. 


255 


Through all the higher forms of aniraai nfe the female ex- 
cels the male in complexity of structure and fineness of use, 
and is, beyond dispute, the more complete type of devel- 
opment. In the human species this is especially true. 
Moreover, in point of religious sense and spiritual insight, 
the distinguishing characteristics of the class, it is so con- 
spicuously true that woman is far in advance of man, that 
the best minds of the race have always borne testimony to 
the fact.” 

“ Mrs. Darrell, one wOuld like to know the limits of these 
assumptions of yours. Would you have the goodness to 
state just what, if any, excellence or virtue you do allow 
to men? Are there any crumbs which we may make bold 
to pick up from your overflowing table ? ” 

“ Oh ! certainly,” she said, laughing. “ If you wish my 
articles of faith, here they are : 

“ Credo — imprimis: That man is physically the larger, 
stronger, and altogether more imposing being. 

“That this fact, together with the predominance of his 
selfish propensities; an endowment entirely fitted to the 
sphere of his action, gives to the manifestations of his 
intellect an aggressive force which is superior to any 
similar manifestation of which woman is capable. 

“ That the distinctive work of man is to subdue the 
earth ; that is, to make the material creation subservient 
to the wants of the race ; and to provide the elements of 
the home. 

“ That the coarse structure and predominant selfish 
propensities necessary to this work, are incompatible with 
the purest moral and spiritual development. That, conse- 
quently, this marks the inferior or negative side of his 
nature. 

“ Per contra: 

“ That woman has the finer and more enduring physical 
structure. 


256 


A woman’s secret. 


“ That the characteristics of her mind are correspond- 
ingly pure and elevated, rather than strong ; while, morally, 
the predominance of her unselfish and devotional charac- 
teristics mark this as the superior or positive side of her 
nature. 

“ That her work, as thus indicated, is to create the home, 
to maintain pure, and elevating, and spiritualizing infiuences 
therein ; and through the peculiar powers which belong 
to her sacred office of maternity, to secure to the children 
whom she bears, strong, and beautiful, and harmonious 
characters. 

“ That, beyond this, she has, in her best estate, a mission 
of purification and spiritualization to the world at large, 
through which only that spiritual perfection of the race, 
to which we all look forward, under different names, can 
possibly come.” 

“I begin, at least,” said Mr. Gladstone, “to see whereon 
you rest your claim to the equality of the sexes; but it 
seems to me, that, after all, there must be practically a 
head to the family.” 

“ Undoubtedly. The King is the head of the realm, and 
ranks the Laureate; and the poet pays, without disgrace, 
his loyal homage. Yet the King is never so kingly as 
when he bows the knee to the poet.” 

“ It is a good deal cloudy to me yet,” said Mr. Glad- 
stone. “ But one thing is plain to my vision, Mrs. Darrell, 
and that is, you must be in a dangerous condition, with 
such explosive and revolutionary doctrines seething in 
your brain. I advise you, in a friendly way, and as a 
measure of safety, to write a book, and give them vent.” 

“ When I do,” said Laura, gaily, “I’ll give you honorable 
mention in it, as that rara avis^ a man who can hear a 
woman talk Woman’s Rights, and not lose his temper.” 

“ Oh ! you see, we of the stronger party can afford to be 
good natured : because,whatever place your clever theories 


A woman’s secret. 


257 


and ingenious ratiocinations may assign us in the meta- 
physical scale, in practical life we still have nine points of 
the law in our favor. It is a favorite theory with men, that 
might makes right, and, by your own showing, we have 
still the might.” 

“Well, you who believe that physical might is greater 
than moral might, stand by your colors ; and as soon as we 
can get our forces trained to stand by theirs; to cease 
making frantic attempts to be men, and to be content to be 
all that the good word Woman means, we will fight it out 
squarely with you. The day may be longer or shorter in 
coming ; but, so sure as the world tm-ns around, it will 
come?'' 

Laura was thoroughly roused, and her tones rang with a 
martial clangor. Mr. Gladstone had risen to take his leave, 
and they were all standing, when Reba said, sweetly : 

“Let us rather imagine, that, when Woman shall have 
embodied her Ideal, the presence shall be so majestic, so 
tender, so irresistible, that man shall gladly bow the knee 
and do homage, and so the soul of the old-time chivalry 
shall take a new form, and walk once again among men.” 

As Mr. Gladstone stepped out under the open sky, 
winning him upwards with its stars, her words lingered 
like the vibrations of a silver bell upon his ear. 


258 


A woman’s secret. 


XXIV. 

A PROFESSIONAL VISIT. 

It was sometime during the merry month of May, that 
the old gray horse began to make daily pauses in front of 
Moses Moss’ cottage. It was Moses himself who was sick, 
this time. It was hard to tell what ailed him, except that 
the main cause of it, whatever it was, was whiskey. His 
system had, perhaps, got overcharged at length with the 
miserable stuff, and so made a faint and feeble reaction 
against it. 

Therefore, as the doctor said, Moses was “ down. 
Some feverish; a bad breath; pretty feeble; needs tonics. 
Never’ll he so strong again as he has been. Moses has 
seen his best days.” 

This sentence, so oracularly pronounced, had its effect 
on Moses. He lay very still upon his bed, was peevish and 
fretful by spells, and by spells thoughtful. Having his 
miserable life in review before him, perhaps. Not that 
Moses had been an outrageously wicked man. He had 
never been that. He was an honest laborer, making every 
time as good a pair of shoes as he knew how to make; or, 
if the job were only mending, doing that with equal 
conscientiousness. He was a kind enough husband and 
father, on that lower sensual plane on which he had always 
lived. He tried hard to keep the table well supplied ; he 
would go without a coat himself that his children might 
have shoes. Had done so year after year when they were 
coming thick and fast upon him. He had a fondness for 
his wife, too, though he felt that she wms too far above him 
to make it possible that he should always be level to her 
mood, or she to his; but the love of his youth had never 


A woman’s secret. 


259 


died wholly out; and, as year after year passed on, it burst 
out now and then in some unlooked for and unpractical 
manner; for true sentiment is always unpractical, whether 
it blossom in the poet’s verse or the peasant’s ruder deed. 
Nor was Moses wholly without that tender, spiritualizing 
sense, the feeling of the beautiful. In some dark, narrow 
crypt of his brain lay the germ of that emotion; but it was 
only now and then that, thrilled by a waft of wandering 
summer air, or warmed by a slant beam of sunshine, it 
sent forth an indefinite but hungry feeler. At such times 
Moses grew ambitious, and with a noble disregard of 
expense, brought home a new table cover, bright with all 
the hues of sunset; or a shawl for his wife, whose scarlet 
glory made her lean figure the one conspicuous thing in 
the little gray meeting-house, among the flock of browns 
and drabs and grays there congregated; the consciousness 
of which was sure to destroy the edification she might 
otherwise have derived from the services. 

But farther than this, could it be said that Moses had 
any soul-life? What evidence had he ever given of 
possessing, more than a dog or a horse, any consciousness 
of the soul’s vast inheritance of immortality; or of the 
possibility of any enjoyments higher than those of the 
grosser senses ? 

There is one type of woman for whom I have admira- 
tion without emulation. Its representative, with some 
bright endowments, and a more than ordinary share of 
purely womanly characteristics, is wedded to a sensual, 
brutish nature like this. With a self-renunciation, of which 
the unconsciousness of merit is the most wonderful part, 
she immediately devotes herself to the task of placing 
herself on a sympathetic level with her husband; to the 
extinguishment of every shining charm ; the remolding of 
every attractive trait; the assimilation of every fiber of 
her nature to the low and groveling type of the man. The 


260 


A woman’s secret. 


ideal woman is utterly buried in the coarse reality of her 
life and duty. But behold the wonderful transformation. 
These gentle feminine graces and aspirations, so lost, so 
buried, reappear by slow growth, and grotesque apotheosis, 
in the sluggish nature of the man. He will gain heaven at 
last, mounting by the sure stepping-stones of that devoted 
woman’s sacrifices. And so, as ever, Woman bears the 
Christ. 

But Mrs. Moss was not one of these. She had the true 
womanly gift of spiritual healing, but not so could it be 
applied. In these days of inactivity, and of being 
brought face to face with death, Moses began to bethink 
himself of his lost chances. He had laughed at “mother” 
often for going to church so persistently; had scolded 
sometimes, because she “wasted” so much time reading; 
had even felt that if she had been less occupied with her 
reading, and the thoughts it engendered, and more ready 
to listen to his story-telling and gossip, that he should 
have gone less frequently to the tavern. But now, looking 
back upon the miserable, fruitless past, he began to wish 
that he had staid at home more, and read with mother. 
To be sure, there had always been such a brood of children 
about, that the home had had few charms; but, in a vague, 
regretful way, he saw that while he had had a man’s 
freedom, a man’s superior position and chances, and 
mother had been tied at home with these children, and 
kept constantly a slave to their daily and nightly wants, it 
was, after all, she, and not he, who was the strongest and 
bravest to meet “life, death and that vast hereafter,” 
which, even to Moses’ darkened mind, began to loom up 
with fearful certainty and distinctness. It seemed all 
wrong, all puzzling, all mysterious, and somehow unjust, to 
Moses. And when he had got so far, his old worn body 
set up its protest, and he grew peevish again, and just then 
the doctor called. 


A woman’s secret. 


261 


“H’m!”said the doctor, feeling his pulse and taking 
a survey of his eye and skin. “Not much better. How 
— does — the — medicine — affect you?” 

“Don’t do me a bit of good, as I can see, doctor. I tell 
ye, doctor, I’ve got to have something warming before I 
shall get over this.” 

“Pepper-tea. Pepper-tea is warming, A little pepper- 
tea, not too strong, might do you good.” 

Moses swore a little. “Pepper-tea,” he exclaimed, 
scornfully. “ I tell you, doctor, it’s whiskey I want, or gin. 
If I could get a good horn of either, I should be right up 
in a minute.” 

The doctor whistled, in that low, meditative way of his. 
“When you get able to go to the tavern after it, it will be 
time enough for you to take the whiskey. Guess I’d let it 
alone just now.” 

Mrs. Moss came in, and they consulted about various 
minor details of the case. Then the doctor rose to go. 

“Doctor,” said Moses, in a feeble, whining voice — it 
was his final appeal, can't I have just a drop of some- 
thing warming ? ” 

“Ho — ho,” said the doctor. “When — old — Squire 
McIntyre — was a farming it — on — the — Nightingale — 
Place, he was mighty — tight — with his hired men. 
Didn’t give ’em half enough to eat. They complained to 
the neighbors, and some of the old farmers about went to 
the squire, and recommended him to be a little more 
liberal. ‘Men — a — mowing,’ they said, ‘wanted a — 
little — something — warm — for ’breakfast."' ‘Cod! ’ said the 
old squire, ‘I don’t know what the devil they want hotter 
than boiling hot porridge.’ You can have all the boiling — 
hot — porridge — you want.” 

The doctor shut the door, and there was no more to be 
said. 

Mrs. Moss was going about her kitchen with a neiwous 


262 


A woman’s secret. 


jerk in her motions, and a nervous flicker in her eyes, 
which the doctor was not slow to notice. 

He was not in a hurry, so he sat down and began to talk 
with the woman. The doctor had not spent fifty years 
prying into the causes of things, without finding out the 
reason that women are usually more talkative than men. 
With their fine nervous organisms and sensitive feelings, 
and with the constant strain, and wear and tear, to which 
the peculiarities of their life subject their delicate suscep- 
tibilities, they would die if they had not a vent for the 
nervousness and irritation engendered. The doctor kn^v 
very well that a good talk would do Mrs. Moss good; and 
knowing all the burdens which she had to bear in these 
days, he considered it a professional duty to stop and give 
her a chance to have it. 

“How is Theodore getting along?” asked the doctor. 

“Theodore is doing first rate,” said his mother, proudly. 
“ There ain’t a better boy in the county, if I do say it. 
He’s a regular staver for business. He’s up every morning 
at daybreak, makes the fire, gets the kettle on before I 
get up, has his breakfast by sunrise, and is oflT. He takes 
good care of his money, too. He has been a rough boy, 
and maybe he hain’t got quite so smooth an outside, yet, 
as some on ’em, but he’s true blue for all that.” 

“I am glad to hear it,” said the doctor, “,glad to hear 
it. I’ve always thought well of Theodore, ever since he 
went to the fair for me. He did well then, did — well. I 
hope he will always do as well.” 

“ If there didn’t nothing trouble me more than Theodore,” 
said Mrs. Moss, “I shouldn’t have much to worry about. 
But here’s Moses; he is twice the care the boy is.” 

“Moses is some sick, but I hope he’ll be around again 
in a week or two. He is pretty peevish, and I expect is 
some care; but he’s going to get over it; going — to get 
— over — it.” 


A woman’s secret. 


263 


“Yes, and then the first thing he’ll do will be to go 
right back to that tavern and fill himself up again. 
Doctor, you know I ain’t one of the complaining kind, 
I never have been. But — youhnowy 

“Yes, I know, I know,” with that pensive infiection 
which gave the words a thousand-fold more meaning than 
they possessed of themselves. “ I suppose I know some- 
thing what it is to live with a man that drinks. You’ve 
borne your burden so far, Rachel; you ain’t going to 
break down now, are you?” 

“ No,” said Rachel, a dry, choking sob in her voice. 
“ I ain’t a-going to break down. 1 ain’t so strong as I 
used to be before I had all this brood of children, but I 
shall hold out a while longer yet. But I wish every drop 
of liquor in the world was burnt up.” 

“You are over tired now, Rachel. As you say, you 
are not so strong as you used to be. After a few years 
you’ll feel better than you do just now. It’s the turning 
point with you. You’ll get beyond that, and then you’ll 
get settled again. You must remember that, and not 
give way too much. As for the liquor, the liquor isn’t to 
blame. Liquor is good enough in its place ; good for 
medicine; good in cases of great fatigue or unusual 
exposure. It’s the men that are to blame. The liquor 
isn’t to blame, but some men are awfully depraved in the 
use of it. I’ve seen women that were pretty hard drinkers, 
but it isn’t natural to them. They are fine grained, and 
they can’t stand it. They burn out too fast. But men 
will drink, if their animal passions crave drink, and all the 
Maine laws in the world won’t stop them. People have 
got to stop fighting the liquor, and fight the brutal natures 
of the men instead. Moses ought to go to meeting; he 
ought to read the papers more. If Theodore would sub- 
scribe for some good political paper for a year, and you 
would read it aloud to him — the children have got out of 


264 


A woman’s secret. 


the way now, so you can — it would keep him away from 
the tavern, more than the Maine law. Kind o’ court him 
up again, Rachel. Make him feel that he don’t want to 
go anywhere, where you can’t go, too. Women can do 
that; they know hoAv; God made ’em the way he did on 
purpose for the business. Kind o’ court him up a little, 
now that you are getting old together, and Moses will see 
better days than he has ever seen. Never’ll be so strong 
again, but he’ll be a better man. 

“Above all, Rachel, don’t you get discouraged. When 
a woman gets discouraged, the house goes to ruin, sure 
enough.” 

There were tears in Rachel’s eyes, and she wiped her 
hands out of the dishwater and stepped forward and 
shook hands with the doctor. 

“Doctor,” she said, “I’ll remember every word of this, 
and it shall all be done. Seems as if I never got to any 
sore pinch in my life, but what you stood ready to help 
me out. I can’t pay you for it, but God will.” 

The doctor dropped his head, and left the house with- 
out another word; but very deep down in his heart some 
tender feeling, for a moment, stirred. 

“I’m a dry old stick,” he said to himself. “ Odd, maybe; 
the young folks all seem to think I’m odd; but \ do — 
believe — there are two — or — three — old — women that 
set by me, and would miss me if I was gone.” 

Then the doctor, sitting behind the old gray, the reins 
hanging loose in his hands, and riding away over the 
wind-swept hills, meditated and wondered. Meditated 
more and wondered less than he had five-and-thirty years 
ago, when he had first ridden about from one to another 
of these low, gray farm houses ; but still meditated and 
wondered. The doctor said to himself: 

“When a female bird is sitting on her eggs, the male 
bird goes abroad in search of food for her, and, coming 


A woman’s secret. 


266 


home, sits on a twig hard by the nest, and sings his best 
song. When a woman is having her children and bringing 
them up, her husband, when his day’s work is done, as 
like as any way, goes to a tavern or a worse place, to get 
rid of his time. She can’t cultivate her mind, and he 
won’t, and their old age is likely to be a pretty barren one. 
If men hadn’t got such a notion of shutting women out 
of all kinds of business in which they are themselves 
engaged, it would be better for them, in my opinion. It 
isn’t profitable for men to be alone now, more than it was 
in the Garden. If they are alone in their business, they 
grow coarse and selfish, and dishonest; they run wild 
with speculation, and, very likely, in the end turn out 
defaulters. If they are alone in their places of recreation, 
they sink from ale-houses and billiard- saloons to houses 
whose steps, true enough, lay hold on hell. 

“The Lord — knew — just — what — kind — of an animal 
— he had made — when he said, — isnH — good — for^ 
man — to be alone,'* 


M 


266 


A woman’s secret. 


XXV. 

THE FIRST LAW OF COURTSHIP. 

Mr. Gladstone was not conscious of any particular change 
in his intellectual convictions, resulting from that evening’s 
conversation ; and yet, in a way which he scarcely recog- 
nized, there was a certain expansion of his views, and a 
letting in of light, upon some dingy, cob-webbed corners 
of his mind, which was very salutary. 

He had always felt a peculiar and tender reverence for 
good women ; but it had never occurred to him that a 
broad and thorough intellectual training would add very 
much to their , worth. He had rather thought of it as 
something which women did not need ; were above, he 
might have said, had no woman challenged his combative- 
ness, by asserting that fact before him. And, as I said, 
he was not conscious of any change in his opinions now ; 
but a single practical result told the story. From that 
time forth, he never again thought of Lillian Meredith as 
his wife. 

But Miss Ridalhuber ? He hadnotquite settled his doubts 
yet, as to whether that lady was capable of a strong and 
pure affection. 

Meantime, a little incident occurred. At the close of a 
hot June day, Reba called at the office to return a parcel 
of papers. A little weariness, a good deal of lassitude, 
consequent upon the sudden coming of summer, gave a 
droop to her eyelids, and a pliancy to her form, which had 
a certain tender grace of their own, and which caught at 
once Mr. Gladstone’s eye. 

“Have you anything more for me?” she asked. 

He hesitated a moment, looking at her with honest eyes 
of sympathy and kindness. 


A woman’s secret. 


26T 


“ No,” he said, “ not this evening. There was a little 
matter, but you look too tired. Will you take these 
flowers? A lady brought them to me; but they are 
wasting their fragrance on my masculine robustness. I 
think they will revive you.” 

The kind tones touched a tender place in Reba’s heart, 
and she looked up to him with eyes full of gratitude and 
appreciation. 

“Thank you,” she said, frankly, and then her eyes 
dropped. 

That sudden sufiiision of her face with light, had been a 
revelation to Mr. Gladstone; and he was feasting his eyes 
upon it in a way which called the color to her cheek. He 
held out his hand to her, to say good-by, and the light 
trembling touch of hers lingered in his memory, a twin 
token to the eyes’ soft shining, for many an hour after- 
ward. 

“ That was true feeling, tenderly expressed,” he said. 
“ I would like to win that look into her face again.” 

Reba was a little provoked at herself as she walked 
home. “ How dared he be so gentle,” she said to herself, 
“ and yet it was only courteous. And I was so foolisli as 
to be touched by it, and — I do not know — but I am afraid, 
to show it, too. I must be more cautious in future.” 

It is a curious study to watch how simply and certainly 
two hearts, naturally akin, if all adventitious barriers are 
removed, will find each other out. 

Mr. Gladstone called on Miss Ridalhuber that very 
evening. He had no thought, as he walked <^wn the 
flowery lane which led to the parsonage, but he should 
find her just as fascinating as ever. She was, in truth, 
looking very sweetly; but the peculiar charm of her 
manner had somehow vanished. Her tones were just 
as melodious, but his heart-strings did not once thrill 
under her sorcery. He had the taste of true honey on his 


268 


A woman’s secret. 


tongue, and no counterfeit sweetness could deceive him 
now. 

When he bade her good evening there was not a trace in 
his manner of that impressment on which she had built so 
many hopes. He bowed his adieux, and walked away as 
coolly as he might have from the banker’s desk where he 
had just deposited his day’s overplus. 

Miss Ridalhuber felt it, and said to herself: “It is, 
then, only a flirtation.” Ten minutes later she observed 
to Mrs. Evans : 

“ Elise, dear, how many days does rural etiquette allow 
us, before returning Mrs. Linscott’s visit? ” 

“ It is quite optional with us,” said Mrs. Evans, “ to go, 
or not. It is twelve or fifteen miles to Jericho.” 

“Ah ! ” said Miss Ridalhuber, a little regretfully. 

“But, then, if you would like, we may go all the same.” 

“I think not,” said Miss Ridalhuber. “It would be 
taking too much trouble. jElise, is Mr. Evans going to 
have a picnic for the Sabbath School, on the Fourth of 
July?” 

“ It would be delightful. I’U propose it to him at once.” 

“ Oh ! not from me. I thought country people always 
did celebrate that anniversary in some such way.” 

The Sabbath School picnic was settled upon, and Mr. 
Linscott was invited to be present and deliver the address. 
Miss Ridalhuber, you see, was an industrious creature, and 
wasted no time in vain regrets. 

Meantime, Mr. Gladstone was pursuing that resolve of, 
his, to win back the tender look into Rebecca’s face. He 
had no serious ulterior intention in the matter. He did 
not speculate about her ; his dreams were confined to the 
single point of recalling her face as she looked up, with 
tender, beaming eyes, to thank him for the flowers. Yet, 
as he met her, from day to day, there was an insidious 
tenderness and delicacy in his manner toward her, which 


A woman’s secret. 


269 


he had not often brought to bear upon any other woman. 
His voice softened when he addressed her ; his look grew 
tenderer when it rested upon her, as it often did, till the 
color involuntarily deepened on her cheek ; and his very 
fingers dropped caresses, as they touched the dainty manu- 
scripts which she brought him. 

In all the world, I think, there is not a more selfish 
being than a man, when he takes this kind of light, 
inconsequent fancy for a woman. A coquette, even, is 
less despicable ; because, when the weak practices upon 
the strong, we confess to a kind of retributive justice; 
but when the strong takes advantage of the weak, there is 
meanness added to wrong-doing. The man knows — do 
not ask me how — a thousand and one tender arts of 
which she is innocent; and he uses them all without scruple, 
to entrap her/into some manifestation of feeling, and then, 
when he has found how her face lights up with the love- 
smile on it — that is all he wanted to know. He trims his 
sail to other breezes, and is ofi*, leaving her to lay the 
spirits he has raised as best she may. 

Abraham Gladstone was not a man to do this thing in 
any other than a thoughtless way. Yet, if you had asked 
him, at that stage of the acquaintance, what were his inten- 
tions toward Rebecca, he would have answered you at 
once, and honestly, that he had no intentions — none what- 
ever. If Rebecca had yielded to his advances, as nine out 
of ten untried women would have done; opening her heart 
as naturally and as purely to his smiles, as a flower opens 
to the sun, he would have some day been a little shocked, 
and then her fate would have hung upon a thread. If he 
had had nothing better to do at that moment, and the 
fates had been propitious, he might have made genuine 
love to her; otherwise, he would have kissed his finger-tips 
and said good-by to her so airily, that she would have 
loved him for the grace of his departure, if for nothing more. 


270 


A woman’s secret. 


But Rebecca, whatever her personal feelings may have 
been, had veiy good reasons for not encouraging Mr. 
Gladstone’s demonstrativeness. The more he grew 
appreciative, the more she grew coy, till at last Mr. Glad- 
stone became very sensible that, while she ever accepted 
his kindness most graciously, there was a certain line which 
he could never pass without suddenly letting in upon him- 
self a very chilling draught. 

And yet, he had once seen the way straight down to 
her heart. Mr. Gladstone began to feel as if the happiness 
of his lifetime depended upon his catching again that star- 
beam, and following it to its source. From calling at Mr. 
Darrell’s on business, it came to his calling for pleasure ; 
instead of bringing always law papers, he brought some- 
times literary papers ; till Mrs. Darrell, with a woman’s 
quick perceptions, saw plainly that he had commenced to 
lay regular siege to Rebecca’s heart. But between the 
two women a singular confidence existed. Since the 
night of their long conversation concerning Rebecca’s 
history — a conversation which, however free it had been 
concerning general outlines, had included no details of 
name or place — not a word had been spoken on the sub- 
ject, except, perhaps, an indirect allusion now and then. 
Rebecca was not a woman who could be talkative about 
her own experiences, whether they were sad or joyful. 
The deepest feelings of her heart ever concealed them- 
selves, and Mrs. Darrell, with true respect and noble trust, 
took with love whatever her friend ofiered, and asked for 
nothing more. Therefore, though she had an intense 
interest to know Rebecca’s feelings, she never, by word or 
deed, alluded to the circumstance of Mr. Gladstone’s 
attentions, or remarked his coming as if it were at all out 
of the common way. 

And Rebecca herself — she had had, as we know, a little 
prejudice against Mr. Gladstone, during her early acquaint- 


A woman’s secret. 


271 


ance with him; and this, when she liad first agreed to act 
as his copyist, it had been her firm and rather perverse 
determination to retain. But, somehow, during the first 
week of her engagement, this had imperceptibly vanished, 
till now not a vestige of it remained. He was an honest 
man, a courteous and refined gentleman. She respected 
him thoroughly. So much before her fears were startled. 
When he surprised her with his kindness, her woman’s 
heart gave a little flutter, but she said to it: “Be still, fond 
thing; you are dead, and have no right to be stirring in 
your deep-made grave.” She took out the invisible weeds 
which she had worn years ago, and draped herself with 
them, and Mr. Gladstone felt them. When Mr. Gladstone 
commenced to visit her as a suitor, she knew it very well, 
but she said in scorn of her old self, “my heart waken to 
the tread of a lover again! It is absurd.” But it just 
then occurred to her how differently she had felt, when she 
knew, by that unerring insight which the bitter experi- 
ences of the past had taught her, that Mr. Linscott had 
leanings toward her. Then she had said, and with calm 
pulses, too, that she should never marry. Now, alas ! 

I think, at this stage, she must have had a good cry. I 
do not know how a woman, so tried and perplexed, could 
maintain her outward equilibrium and composure as she 
did, without that secret relief. And even then, she had 
not quite strength to put her heel upon this new tender- 
ness and crush it, as something within her told her she 
ought; but just went on, day after day, taking up, when 
Mr. Gladstone’s back was turned, the manna his presence 
had dropped, and feeding on it in secret. Yet, all the time 
persuading herself — this weak, fond woman — that she was 
not going to allow him to address her, or herself to feel 
any tenderness for him. 

In this life, who can tell what is fate and what is free- 
will? how much we do for ourselves, and how much the 


272 


A woman’s secret. 


power that ordains our lot does for us ? Blessed thought, 
that our lives and His are so closely interwoven that only 
Infinite Wisdom can mark the dividing line. 

Wyndham possessed unusual facilities for picnioing. 
Within easy access of the town, but still sufficiently remote 
for solitude and freedom, a tiny lake, blue as the sky, lay 
nestled among the meditative hills. Ancient woodlands 
stretched down the neighboring hill-slopes, and peeped 
over the very brim into the shining mirror below ; a vanity 
of which ancient trees are not the sole example among 
ancient things. Here birds sang and squirrels chattered, 
quite undisturbed, except that occasionally during the 
summer social parties were formed at the village, who 
drove out in great wagons and spent the day in a frolic 
under the green boughs of the venerable maples and 
hickories. At last, public liberality bestirred itself, and 
cleared up an acre or so of underbrush, and laid a platform 
for dancing, and built a small rostrum for the accommoda- 
tion of the American Eagle, or his representative, on the 
Fourth of July and thereafter the picnic ground became 
as much a public institution as the bank or the meeting- 
house. 

Thither, on this Fourth of July, which we are about to 
celebrate, the Sabbath school of Wyndham, accompanied 
by the grave and reverend seigniors of the town, and the 
scarcely less grave and reverend juniors — for, in Yankee 
towns it is generally the young people who lead — 
repaired in dignified, yet jocund procession, to mingle 
recreation with historic memories and grandiloquent 
prophesies. 

A great many people manage to enjoy themselves in the 
world, but none, that I know of, with such a solemn, 
responsible sense of the fact, as New Englanders. A 
picnic in New England, at which religion and politics and 
temperance, and that highly necessary and important 


A woman’s secret. 


273 


espionage of public morals, which the irreverent call 
scandal, were not the chief and prominent interests main- 
tained, would be an anomaly. Make sure of these things, 
then slip in your little amusements here and there, as you 
find occasion. You have then an entertainment which 
may or may not prove a recreation and a pleasure, but 
which, at all events, upholds the reputation of your town 
for morals. 

The day of this especial picnic was fair and fine as 
could be desired. A cloudless sky; a warm, though not 
oppressive sun ; and a quiet breeze curling, but not crisp- 
ing, the shimmering surface of the pond. The grove, cool 
and fresh as purest dew and balmiest air could make it, 
but purged now of any dampness by the fervent sun, blos- 
somed out suddenly at a certain hour of the midday with 
some scores of grave, puritanical little folks, mostly in 
white muslin, with green wreaths and pink roses on their 
hats, while a dignified and orderly assemblage of their 
elders kept due watch and ward over them; they, in 
their turn, being well kept and guarded by two or three 
clergymen in solemn sable, and no end of deacons in 
black coats, and faces of most business-like length and 
importance. 

There was a prayer by the Rev. Mark Evans ; then a 
hymn, then an address to the Sabbath School, by the Rev. 
Jeremiah Linscott. Such a stirring, bracing, well seasoned 
discourse as it was ; eminently fitted to impress upon the 
minds of those small sinners the amount of evil there was 
in the world, and which it would be their solemn duty, 
when they should have grown into the stature and places 
of their progenitors and present guardians, to root out, to 
castigate, to extirpate utterly from the face of the earth. 
The responsibility of the temporal and eternal welfare of 
unnumbered thousands of their fellow-men, was laid upon 
their young shoulders ; and if they took any good of the 


274 


A woman’s secret. 


strawberries and cream, and gingerbread, and sponge- 
cakes, which came after, it must have been the fault ol 
tough consciences, and not of the Rev. Jeremiah Linscott’s 
oratory. The school-master then read the Declaration of 
Independence; after which Mr. Gladstone represented the 
politics of the day in a rather more hopeful and less over- 
powering strain ; and after him were to follow hymns, and 
stiU other speeches — one, by a celebrated temperance 
lecturer, being a marked feature of the day. 

But, at the close of his address, Mr. Gladstone descended 
from the platform, and making his way to Rebecca, who 
stood on the edge of the crowd, drew her hand into his 
arm, and said, gayly : 

“I’m done with duty for to-day. Let us get away from 
this crowd, and stroll off into the woods. I promise you 
a whole handful of wild flowers, before we get back.” 

Reba hesitated a moment ; but his manner was earnest, 
and the woods looked very cool and inviting, and she 
finally yielded. 

“ I wonder if I shall offend you,” said Mr. Gladstone, “by 
giving free ventilation to my opinion of Mr. Linscott ? ” 

Reba smiled; and he, taking that for his answer, went on : 

“As a man, he is all very well; a good citizen, and I’d 
vote for him, for High Sheriff, as soon as any man I know 
of. But, as a minister of the Gospel of Love, as a spiritual 
leader and guide to us poor sinners, sunk as we are already, 
in the grossness of materialism, that does seem to me too 
much of a joke.” 

“ But Mr. Linscott has a great many good points, 
especially when you consider the kind of people he is 
set over ; and we cannot expect all the virtues and graces, 
you know, for six hundred a year.” 

“ Oh, you may ease your conscience that way, if you 
like; but I prefer to own to the gossip, and then speak the 
truth. I do protest against any man who has not the glim- 


A woman’s secret. 


275 


mer of a spark of spiritual insight or illumination, but who 
is, if possible, harder and more material than his neighbors, 
setting himself up for a spiritual guide. I don’t believe 
God ever called such a man as Mr. Linscott to the pulpit; 
a man so materialistic in his views, so full of old traditions, 
so perfectly incapable of any broad, progressive views of 
truth ; and I do think that he hinders the good work of 
Christianizing the world more than he helps it. If ever I 
feel like taking the field against all creeds and dogmas, and 
restricted forms of belief whatever, it is after I have listened 
to him for an hour, pelting his audience with old dry husks 
of doctrine, and never once giving them a grain of anything 
that could, by any means, be made nutritious to the human 
soul.” 

“ When you feel in that way, Mr. Gladstone, you should 
go back to the simple power and beauty of Christ’s teach- 
ings : the wheat fields, the lilies, the fowls of the air, the 
flocks of the fields, the expanse of the sea, the purity of 
the mountains ; these wiU soften and heal your pugilistic 
propensities, and lift you into a region entirely above, and 
transcending them.” 

“ Yes, I know it, my friend ; I know it. But why don’t 
the church present these things more ; the quiet, simple 
truths, the beautiful and impressive sacraments, and leave 
out the dogmas. We poor hunted, sin-chased men, would 
get set free from our tempters a great deal quicker. My 
friend, do you know that I have leanings toward the Roman 
Church, on that very account?” 

Reba smiled. “The Church of God,” she said, “mine 
eye seeth it now ; its firm and huge foundations, laid deep 
in the Judaic heart, among the iron and granite of the 
old Roman and Gothic worlds ; its walls rising broad and 
vast through the middle age, columned with the figures of 
saints and apostles, and cemented with the blood of 
martyrs ; its grand over-arching roof springing light, but 


A woman’s secret. 


276 

firm and sparkling, from the civilization of to-day ; its 
dome, ah, its dome 1 no eye hath seen that miracle of 
glory. It dwelleth yet in the heavens, in the vision of the 
Great Architect, who buildeth slowly, through all time; 
but, in the fullness of the ages, it shall descend, glowing 
and perfect, to crown the whole — a fitting coronal.” 

Mr. Gladstone was looking into her face, his eye kindling 
with enthusiasm caught from hers. - They were sitting 
upon a great ledge, which overlooked the water, green 
mosses under their feet, swaying boughs over their heads. 
A silence deepened between them, as eloquent as it was 
dangerous. 

“Reba,” said Mr. Gladstone, at length, “I have been 
reading Faust recently, and really, Mrs. Darrell’s criticisms 
have opened my eyes to new meanings in it. I yield a 
good deal of my former prejudice; or, rather, I begin to 
see the heart and meaning of the old woman-worship in a 
new light.” 

“I think,” said Reba, “I was never fully impressed 
with the character of Margaret, until I saw it in opera. I 
am, or was, perhaps, peculiarly susceptible to musical 
impressions; but the first time I saw Faust, I sat entranced 
— not with the music; other operas far surpass it in vocal 
and orchestral effects ; but just with the character of that 
pure-hearted, simple-minded German maiden; its divine 
power, its fatal human weakness ; the one set all astray, as 
the power of woman mostly is, in this world ; the other in 
the direct line of her swift, on-coming fate. There »was 
a naturalness and a terribleness about it, which utterly 
overcame me.” 

They wandered off, then, into a discursive chat, which, 
grew to have its more or less personal side ; a comparison 
of tastes, and likings, and impressions, which deepened 
their mutual acquaintance, and disclosed a harmony that 
was in itself a snare. 


A woman’s secret. 


277 


Coming back to the picnic ground, they found the tables 
spread, and the usual busy, buzzing groups, surrounding 
them. 

Seating Reba in the shade of a great oak, at a little 
distance from the tables, Mr. Gladstone procured refresh- 
ments, and the two were discussing them with the usual 
chat. 

“ How well the grounds are looking, and people seem to 
be enjoying themselves hugely. For a picnic gotten up 
on so short notice, it is, I think, a decided success.” 

“Mrs. Evans gives out,” said Reba, “that we owe all 
this pleasure to Miss Ridalhuber’s love of children and 
interest in Sabbath schools.” 

The remark was pointed by a sly glance of amusement 
across the tables, where Mr. Linscott was devoting him- 
self to the young lady in question with his usual energy. 

Mr. Gladstone was quietly appreciative. 

“Behold the malice of women,” said he, “shining as 
steel, fine as a needle point, and as piercing. I wonder if 
Mrs. Darrell will put that quality of women into her 
book?” 

' “I disown the malice,” said Rebecca; “simply these 
ways in which good society trains up its virtuous daugh- 
ters, and the innocent little transparencies of fiction by 
which they strive to make art conceal art, amuse me. 
Besides, you forget that I have an interest in Mr. Linscott.” 

“ Ah ! yes. Shall I confess to you that I once was quite 
seriously attracted by Miss Ridalhuber? She is a fine girl, 
Miss Reba, spite of that dainty bit of detraction.” 

“ Mr. Gladstone, we shall quarrel in five minutes, if you 
continue your accusations. I do not deny Miss Ridalhuber’s 
virtues. Only — ” 

“ Only you are a woman. To tell the truth, I am delight- 
ing myself with finding that, spite of the rather decided 
leaning which you manifest toward what Mr. Linscott 


278 


A woman’s secret. 


would certainly call ‘ strong-mindedness,’ you yet have not 
soared altogether above the dear, charming, human foibles 
of the sex. You may prove the women all angels a thou- 
sand times over if you please, so that you leave them at 
last — women.” 

Mr. Gladstone was in his best spirits, and there was 
something in, his tones and the glance of his eyes, or else, 
who knows, something in her own heart, which made 
Reba fix her eyes upon the ground, while a dainty color 
crept up her cheek. 

In that little pause, the words of a group of young 
ladies, who were standing on the other side of the tree, 
came distinctly to their ears. 

“ How devoted Mr. Gladstone is to that Miss March. It 
grows to look serious.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Miss Lillie Meredith, with that fine, cool 
scorn which women manage so well: 

“ Oh ! he is only flirting. I know Mr. Gladstone very 
well, and he would never think of marrying — Aer.” 

Mr. Gladstone looked up at Reba with simply a smile at 
this weighty pronunciamento concerning his intentions: 
and was shocked to see her change color most painfully, 
while her eyes were filled with a look of anguish which he 
could not at, all comprehend. Before he could speak, 
however, Mr. Darrell passed them, and Reba, with a bow 
to Mr. Gladstone, took his arm and walked away. 

“It is no wonder,” he said to himself, “that she should 
have been wounded by that abominable speech. I will see 
her again by and by, and make it right with her.” 

With that, he joined a group of ladies near him, and 
helped them to keep up the light, nonsensical chat of the 
hour; waiting till Mr. Linscott should release Miss Ridal- 
huber, so that he might have a moment with her himself. 

But Mr. Linscott was very much in earnest. No sooner 
had Miss Ridalhuber finished her dish of strawberries and 


A woman's secret. 


279 


cream, than he begged her to walk with him along the 
beach, with which request she very gracefully complied. 

“How sweetly this bright company lights np these 
solemn, old woods,” said Miss Ridalhuber. “I can fancy 
how wild and deserted the place will seem to-morrow, 
when we are all gone.” 

“Ah! yes,” said Mr. Linscott, with a peculiarly tender 
significance of tone, which had an odd effect, when one 
thought of his sharp, business-like face, and his stiff, white 
neckcloth. 

“Ah! yes. My dear Miss Ridalhuber, the presence of 
woman refines the most savage wilderness, in a way which 
we coarser beings of the male sex can admire, but never 
account for. Imagine for a moment that this party was 
composed entirely of men, and how instantly the scene 
would lose its enchantment.” 

Miss Ridalhuber looked her appreciation, but replied in 
a modest, deprecatory tone: 

“Part of that efiect is, I think, owing to tile more 
graceful and brightly colored dress of woman. Gentlemen 
make themselves — shall I say it — hideous, by the fashion 
of their garments.” 

“Ah! my dear young lady, the garments correspond but 
too well with the creatures that wear them. Men are too 
generally ‘of the earth, earthy.’ Woman was created to 
be our solace, our refuge, our guiding star, our sweet 
remembrancer of heaven, in this cold and selfish world. 
It is well she wears her honors meekly, for if she chose 
to fiaunt them in our faces, we should be compelled to 
yield her that supremacy which now she so beautifully 
deprecates.” 

“ Oh ! the modesty of women is their chief ornament, I 
think. The apostle expresses it so beautifully in that 
passage concerning ‘the ornament of a meek and quiet 
spirit.’ ” 


280 


A woman’s secret. 


Let us take notice that Miss Ridalhuber, at that moment, 
was a marvel of frizzes, and braids, and danglers, and 
“gold and pearls, and costly ari-ay,” she having already 
caught the secret of Mr. Linscott’s weakness for a dazzling, 
effective style of dress. 

“Yes, women owe much to Christianity; or, perhaps I 
ought rather to say, that the relation subsisting between 
the two is a most tender and beautiful one. Every minis- 
ter knows that his most appreciative listeners are among 
the women of his congregation; and I have administered 
the Lord’s Supper more than once when, I am grieved and 
pained to say, the women were so much in the preponder- 
ance, that I could scarcely blame a scoffer who once 
remarked that there were hardly men enough present to 
distribute the elements to the women.” 

“The weakness of women impels them to cling to some 
strong, religious support, while men, in their conscious 
strength and self-sufficiency, are less leaning.” 

“Ah, Miss Ridalhuber, only men are conscious how 
deceitful is that appearance of strength and self-sufficiency ; 
how the heart of man ever longs for a sure and safe refuge 
in the love of gentle woman; how much of the strength 
that conq^uers the world, in fact, has its spring in the 
tender and faithful heart of the household angel. More 
precious, far, than all the empty plaudits of the world, are 
the smiles of joy and tears of sympathy of such an one.” 

Miss Ridalhuber was walking with downcast eyes. She 
leaned a little more tremblingly upon Mr. Linscott’s 
arm ; and, thus encouraged, the momentous question was 
speedily murmured in her ear: 

“Azarian, my heart and life are very lonely. Can you 
bless me with your love? Will you be the divinity of my 
home; my dearly loved and tenderly cherished wife?” 

It would be cruel to record, verbatim^ the reply of so 
modest and shrinking a creature as Miss Ridalhuber. It 


A woman’s secret. 281 

is sufficient to say that it was a very gently spoken, and a 
very pleasing one. 

The reader will remember another conversation of Mr. 
Linscott, with a woman toward whom he was tenderly 
attracted. The little queries naturally suggest themselves : 
In which was he most truthful? In which most manly? 

Alas I alas! for the aspirations of such men as Mr. 
Linscott. Since the world began, there never was devised 
but one way of making love. 

Love is blind, you say. Ah I yes ; but he is divine, and 
the gods know all without seeing. 

M2 


282 


A woman’s secret. 


XXVL 

Joel’s secret. 

One showery August evening, just as Mr. Gladstone was 
preparing to leave his office, the door was cautiously 
opened, and Joel entered, looking a little sheepish, and 
casting a furtive glance into every corner of the room. 

“ Good evenin’, sir,” said Joel. “Alone, be ye ? Glad 
on’t. I’ve got something particular to say.” 

“Ah ! indeed,” said Mr. Gladstone. “ Is it professional, 
Joel?” 

“I ’speck so. Leastwise, you can tell that better’n I 
can. ’Tain’t no quarrel, Mr. Gladstone; ’tain’t no quarrel. 
You know I never quarrel; I go in agin quarrelin’.” 

“Yes, Joel; I’m aware that you are a man of peace.” 

“ Yes, sir; nor I don’t want to stir up no quarrel. I’ve 
had it on my mind a good while to tell you ; but, ye see, I 
didn’t want to make no fuss. I asked Nancy about it, 
(ye see, Nancy was a kind o’ knowing to it, as I may say,) 
but she advised me to hold my tongue. ‘ ’Tain’t likely 
there’ll any good come of it,’ says she, ‘’cept it’s a quarrel, 
and you may get yourself into a scrape. You’d better 
hold your tongue, Joel.’ You know Nancy’s one of the 
faint-hearted sort, anyhow. But there’s my Lucretia, she’s 
of a different stripe. When I told her about it, pretty 
soon after we was married, says she, right off: ‘Joel, do 
you go straight to Mr. Gladstone, and tell him all about it. 
It won’t make no fuss, ’thout there’s something wrong, and 
then there ought to be a fuss made. Lord, I should like 
to know,’ says she, ‘ how we could live in this world, if 
somebody didn’t make a fuss, and keep making a fuss, too, 
about all the time. As for getting yourself into trouble,’ 
says she, ‘ don’t you be afeard. You hain’t been a-doin’ 


A woman’s secret. 


288 


nothin’ that the law can take hold of,’ says she. . That’s 
the difference in women, ye see. Well, I’ve been a meanin’ 
to get over here ’n tell ye, for a good while, but I’ve been 
kind o’ busy, and I never hev till now.” 

“Very well,” said Mr. Gladstone, “I’m quite ready to 
hear it. You hav’n’t told me, yet, what it’s about.” 

“Well, I’m just cornin’ to that,” said Joel, luminously. 

With that he drew his chair a hitch nearer Mr. Gladstone, 
and then went and looked out of the window to see that 
nobody was listening. Being satisfied of this, he came 
back, leaned over to Mr. Gladstone in an earnest, confiden- 
tial way, and commenced his story^ 

As he proceeded, Mr. Gladstone’s indifference suddenly 
vanished, and he listened with the gravest attention. 

“Joel,” he said, when the latter had finished, “ you did 
very rightly in coming to me with this. Your communica- 
tion may lead to something, and it may not ; but, at any 
rate, I think it is best to take it down in writing. I would 
like to have it by me, to refer to ; and then, if you should 
die, or move away, this writing might be used as evidence, 
if it were necessary.” 

Joel seemed a little frightened, but acquiesced, and Mr. 
Gladstone drew up a formal aflidavit, which Joel duly 
aflirmed, and signed, in the proper legal manner. 

“Joel,” said Mr. Gladstone, when they had finished, “ I 
am deeply grateful to you for your discretion in this matter. 
It is late in the day to utter a caution about it, but I trust 
you will be careful not to mention this to any person.” 

“ Oh ! sartain, sir ; sartain. I wouldn’t tell nobody on’t 
for nothin’.” 

“And your wife?” 

“ Oh, Creeshy won’t say nothin’. Leastwise she might 
let out a hint sometime, but ’twouldn’t be nothin’ that 
nobody could make anything of. Creeshy’U keep dark, if 
I tell her to.” 


284 


A woman’s secret. 


“And Nancy? It seems very strange that two or three 
people should have known this thing so long, and it never 
got out at all.” 

“Well, you know I ain’t very quick at supposing things; 
and it was a good while afore I thought anything wrong of 
it. But, arter a while, it kind o’ come to me, as how it 
was queer, lo say the least on’t; and then I told Nancy, 
and she was kind o’ frightened, and said maybe ’twant 
anything, anyway. And I never should ha’ thought it 
really was worth a-tellin’ on, if ’t’adn’t been for Creeshy. 
You needn’t be none afraid of Nancy; she won’t never 
think on’t again, like as not, if nobody don’t say nothin’ to 
her.” 

“Joel,” said Mr. Gladstone, a little doubtingly, “ I feel 
as if you had done me a service, for which I’d like to pay 
you,” and he took out his porte-monnaie, keeping his eye 
all the time on Joel’s face. 

“ Lord! Mr. Gladstone,” said Joel, in high scorn, “I don’t 
want yer money. I hain’t done nothin’. QiO~long /” and 
with that explosive dismissal of the subject, he rushed out 
of the office, and slammed the door after him. 

Mr. Gladstone’s smile relapsed into a deeply thoughtful 
expression of countenance. He sat for five minutes with- 
out moving. At the end of that time his eyes grew tender, 
and he drew a long and feeling sigh. Then he rose, and 
closed his office, and walked thoughtfully down the street. 

Joel, meanwhile, stopped at the store, to do a little 
errand, and then walked home, muttering to himself, in 
a tone that was not at all ill-natured : 

“Humph! Offerin’ me money. Me! — that had the 
bringin’ up of him — the little varmint !” 

At that moment Abraham Gladstone was, to Joel’s eyes, 
only a lad in his teens, over whom Joel, a stout young 
farmer, exercised a kind of friendly oversight and author- 
ity. With all the difference in circumstance, the old tie 


A woman’s secret. 


285 


held good ; and because love is never more nor less than 
love, however seasons change, Joel still spurned the idea 
of taking money from his old friend. 

The next morning there was a great stir in the doctor’s 
kitchen. Mr. Linscott and his mother were coming over 
from Jericho, to spend a day or two — Mr. Linscott was 
assiduously cultivating all his Wyndham acquaintances 
now — and upon Creeshy’s shoulders rested the onerous 
duty of making preparations for them. 

“Joel,” said Lucretia, sharply, as that worthy entered 
with a great armful of oven wood, “ I should like to know 
the reason that we never have no eggs ? It is full two 
weeks since you’ve brought in a single egg. After all the 
fuss you made all winter, about keepin’ over hens, I should 
think we might have an egg, now and then, as well as our 
neighbors. Six hens about the place, to say nothing of 
chickens, and not an egg to use.” 

“ One on ’em ’s a cockerel,” said Joel, coolly, “and — ” 

“ That don’t make no difference,” said Creeshy, spite- 
fully. “ It ain’t nothing at all to the purpose, if they was 
all roosters. There ought to be some eggs in the house — 
five hens around a place, and no eggs. A pretty how d’y’ 
do!” 

“ Cart wheel run over one on ’em, t’other day,” said Joel, 
“ and — ” 

“ I don’t want to hear none o’ your excuses. A man’ll 
set and make excuses all day long, if you’ll let him. 
It is your business to see that them hens lay. I say that, 
with a grist of hens about a place, and no eggs in the 
house, and you a-eating the doctor’s vittles, and a-taking 
his money every day of your life, it ain’t no better’n 
stealin’.” 

“ Two of ’em’s a-settin’,” said Joel, “ and — ” 

“Two of ’em’s a-settin’! I should like to know what 
hens are a-settin’ for in August. I expect the doctor’s 


286 


A woman’s secret. 


a-countin’ on br’iled chicken for breakfast, about Thanks- 
giving time. That’s all the sense he’s got. When folks 
don’t marry, I do b’lieve they get to be fools. What on 
airth are t’other two hens a-doin’ ? ” 

“’Spect they’re a-laying to ’em,” said Joel. 

The doctor, who had passed through the kitchen at the 
beginning of this friendly chat, now re-appeared at the 
door. 

“Joel,” said he, “ how many chickens do you expect old 
Blue-top to hatch ? ” 

“Not any,” said Joel. 

“ She’s sitting on the barn floor with twenty-seven eggs 
under her, and not so much as a wisp of straw for a nest. 
She’s a — little — too — ambitious, I’m afraid, and needs 
regulating.” 

“More fool she,” said Joel. “Ye see, doctor, what, 
with all these showers, the hay has bothered me so, that 
I hain’t thought a word about the hens for a fortnight. 
Creeshy, if you’ll just lift up that pan, right by your hand, 
you’ll find a couple o’ dozen of eggs, that I fetched home 
from the store, last night. I ’spected ye’d be a-wanting 
eggs to-day, but I reckoned ’twould do ye good to hev yer 
blow out.” 

Joel saw a vision of a rolling-pin in mid-air, and dodged 
out of the door with an explosive laugh and cackle. 

“ Guess I got the better on her that time,” said he to 
the doctor. 

“Ye see,” said Lucretia, apologetically, to Miss Joanna, 
who came into the kitchen just in time to witness the 
conclusion of hostilities, “ I shouldn’t care nothin’ about 
old Mrs. Linscott. She’s particular, to be sure, but then 
I ain’t afraid to compare cookin’ with her, any time. I 
know all about her. But that Miss Ridalhuber’ll be here 
to tea, and these city folks do put me out so.” 

“I do not think it is worth while to be troubled much 


A woman’s secret. 


287 


about Miss Ridalhuber,” said Miss Joanna. “Her lover 
will be here, yon know, and people in love are not sup- 
posed to care much for good eating.” 

“ Oh, that ain’t neither here nor there, with Miss Ridal- 
huber,” said Lucretia. “I watched ’em at the picnic, and 
I tell you she ain’t none too much took up with IVIr. 
Linscott. If she could have got the lawyer, she’d have 
given the minister the go-by quick enough.” 

“ Oh, Lucretia, you should not judge people so harshly. 
I am sure Mr. Gladstone has been very attentive to Miss 
Ridalhuber, and if she had fancied him, she had no 
reason, that I know of, for thinking that she couldn’t win 
him.” 

“Humph,” said Lucretia, “you ain’t one of Miss Ridal- 
huber’s kind, and never was. She knows what she is 
about. Not but what she’s good enough for Mr. Linscott. 
He needs somebody that is sly and catty, and can pull the 
wool over his eyes, and he will get it in her.” 

There was some farther chat about kitchen mysteries, 
and then Miss Joanna went out into the garden to gather 
berries for tea. 

In her deep mourning robes, Joanna looked taller, and 
thinner, and sweeter than ever. There was no longer the 
freshness of youth in her face ; but a beauty that youth 
cannot boast, the beauty which only long years of spiritual 
experience can ripen, shone all over her pale, delicate 
countenance. Leaning over the raspberry vines, and 
staining her finger-tips with their crimson lusciousness, 
her mind was busy with graver things. She was thinking 
of Miss Ridalhuber, and of the youthfulness and vivacity 
which, on that picnic day, she had witnessed among the 
young people of the town. 

“My life,” she said, to herself, “has missed all that. I 
can never remember one such day of buoyant happiness as 
those girls will carry in their memories for many a y<''ar. 


288 


A woman’s secret. 


Not that my girlhood was altogether wanting in joys; 
oh, no,” and tfie raspberries swam in a mist before her 
eyes. “But that was all so still, so deep, and in the end 
so sad. And now my youth is gone, and I shall never — 
never — laugh that shrill, happy laugh of girlhood; never 
trifle and coquette and make merry, in that innocent way 
that so becomes girls, and makes their very lives a beauty. 
And yet, I am not old; I cannot subside at once into the 
narrow, monotonous habits of age.” 

She paused, and a drop that was not dew glistened on 
the raspberry leaves. 

“I must — somehow — win something to love; not to 
love me. That was all over when my little Kitty died. 
She can never come back to me, but I shall go to her. 
Meantime, I must find something to love.” 

A project existed in a nebulous state in Miss Joanna’s 
mind. She would need somebody more practical than 
herself to bring about its execution, but, nevertheless, she 
was quite determimed upon that thing. She would have 
something to love. 


A woman’s secret. 


289 


XXVII. 

HOW MRS. MOSS PAID THE DOCTOR. 

One soft midsummer evening, Rebecca had retired to 
her own room, after tea, to finish copying a manuscript, 
when she was interrupted by a very gentle knock at the 
door. 

It was Miss Joanna. 

“May I come in?” she said. 

Rebecca hastened to give her welcome, and to put away 
her papers, for she saw by Miss Joanna’s face that she had 
something of special import upon her mind. 

“Don’t your light draw insects ?” said Joanna, after a 
few moments’ chat, with an innocent attempt at artifice. 

“I think it does,” said Rebecca. “Suppose we put it 
out and sit in the moonlight.” 

“That will please me a great deal better,” said Joanna. 

The light was therefore extinguished. The moon 
streamed in through the open window, and the night 
breeze swayed the climbing vines around it, through which 
a bat was flitting to and fro. 

“I came over,” said Joanna, “just because I felt lonely, 
and wanted to talk with somebody that would understand 
me. I get so miserable, at times, since dear little Kitty 
died, that it seems to me if I don’t have some change, I 
shall get back into those old unhappy ways of which she 
cured me.” 

“ I am glad you came,” said Rebecca, “for I was feeling 
much in the same mood myself.” 

“Oh, you should never get lonely, you who have so 
much to do. Milton says, and I am sure it is true, that it 
is occupation that I need, and possibly — something else.” 

“Yes, Miss Joanna, something else.” 

N 


290 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


“Yes, but occupation; not only work for the hands, but 
work for the head and the heart is necessary to women. 
We are naturally generators, you know; we have the 
neiwous or creative power in far greater plenitude than 
men; Ave suffer from ennui when they loll in perfect 
comfort, and when the stream of constant doing and 
giving gets choked, the whole life is overflowed with 
the restrained force, and we get — dreadful thing that it is 
— nervous. 

“And the upshot of it is, that you want something to 
do ?” 

“Yes, and lam not like Laura; who, if she were left 
destitute to-day, could go out into the world, and provide 
for herself, and at the same time do yeoman’s service in 
reformatory work. I think Laura has a duty in that direc- 
tion Avhich she will commit sin if she much longer neglects. 
But that is not my case. I must have Avork in which my 
heart is engaged. I must get all my forces into the field, 
or I shall perish.” 

“That suggests to me a new idea,” said Rebecca, “con- 
cerning the difference between Avhat is properly man’s and 
Avoman’s Avork. A man’s work engages his hands, or his 
head, perhaps both, but seldom, except in a cold or 
indirect way, his heart. But a woman’s Avork properly 
strikes the full chord of her being. Head, hands and heart 
must all work together to make and keep the house, and 
people it witli new life.” 

“You women Avith brains philosophize as you breathe,” 
said Joanna, AAdth a quaint little smirk. “How, I should 
never have thought of that. But it is so. But to get back 
to my work. When Kitty died, I thought I could never 
take another child into her place, and I never can. I 
loved her, and she loved me, little darling. Ho one else 
will ever love me as she did. I am not quite sure that I 
would have one; but, Rebecca, I might ha\^e a child, 


A woman’s secret. 


291 


whom I could love and care for, and feel an interest in ; 
don’t you think so?” 

The shadows in the room hid Miss Joanna’s face, but 
the softness of her tones diffused a sense of tender, 
delicate feeling all about her. 

“Certainly,” said Rebecca. “I see nothing but good 
in such a purpose.” 

“I have an idea in my head,” said Joanna, “but I am 
such an unpractical body, I shall never get about it rightly 
without a little help.” 

“Is it anything that I can do?” asked Rebecca, cheer- 
fully. 

“ I think, perhaps, you might, at least, suggest some- 
thing. You know Mrs. Moss named her youngest boy 
after Milton.” 

“Oh! yes,” said Rebecca, in deliberate surprise. 

“Do you suppose — she has so many — she would part 
with that one ? It would not be like giving it up altogether, 
you know, for she would see him often, and we would do 
well by him. What little money I have, he would have, 
if he outlived me, and Milton would be a good friend to 
him.” 

“Have you said anything to the doctor?” 

“^^’ot yet. I felt a little — you know — I thought I’d 
tell you first.” 

“And shall I be your minister plenipotentiary?” asked 
Rebecca, laughing. 

“If you will.” 

“ Oh, with pleasure,” said Rebecca. “ I like the scheme, 
and though Mrs. Moss is a good mother, she is also a 
sensible woman, and may, perhaps, be brought to see the 
matter in that light. You are sure you will be satisfied to 
take a boy?” 

“Yes, I have thought of that. If he grows up, and is a 
good boy, as, of course, I hope he will be, he will be more 


292 


A woman’s secret. 


dependence to me by and by. I think I should be very 
proud of having brought uj) a boy to a fine, noble man- 
hood.” 

“ He’d upset some of your precise notions wonderfully.” 

“ Oh, yes ; I have looked that vision of muddy boots and 
torn trowsers, and disordered rooms, quite valiantly in the 
face. I rather think it is just what T need.” 

“Well, then, I can recommend the child. He is a 
bright little fellow, and of a finer fiber than the elder 
children. But, really, I think you might better speak to 
the doctor yourself You know the doctor is jealous 
concerning his own kin.” 

“ So he is, and he’s a good brother, such a good brother. 
I don’t know what I should have done all these years 
without Milton. I will speak to him this very night if I 
can see him alone. Talking with you has made the thing 
seem so much more real and feasible than it did before. 
I knew you would understand my feelings, as hardly 
anybody else could.” 

Two or three days later, Rebecca and Joanna set out 
for a walk across the fields to Mrs. Moss’ cottage. Miss 
Joanna was a little nervous, but Rebecca’s cheerful chat 
put some heart into her, and by the time they reached the 
cottage gate, she was in quite good spirits. The doctor 
had been consulted, and had given a quiet approval. He 
had even talked the matter over with Mrs. Moss, quite 
unbeknown to Miss Joanna, wisely judging that if the 
plan were to succeed, it must be managed with some skill 
and force. 

“If Joanna takes him,” the doctor had said to Mrs. 
Moss, “he will have what little money she has got, if he 
does well. I shall see that he has a good education and 
a fair start in life. I sha’n’t make an heir of Milton. The 
bulk of my money — what there is of it — will go to 
Laura’s children. But I shall see that Milton has a good 


A woman’s secret. 


293 


start in the world; and, on the whole, if you can make up 
your mind to give him up, I don’t know but the boy will 
be well enough off.” 

Mrs. Moss had slept little that night. Moses had hailed 
the project as a “good thing for the boy;” but Mrs. 
Moss’ heart misgave her. Many tears and many prayers, 
and much setting of the matter in all possible lights, had 
gone to her decision. But she had, at last, quietly made 
up her mind, and when she saw the two ladies approaching 
across the fields, her face wore a very solemn look. 

The children were all outside in the yard, just organizing 
for a game of tag ; little Milton, a five year old, being 
perched upon the top rail of the fence, watching the 
t^rocess. Joanna stopped and spoke to him. 

“ Good evening, ma’am,” he said, rather shyly, for Miss 
Joanna was held in great reverence by the children of the 
village.” 

“You are a nice little boy,” said Joanna; “would you 
like some candy?” , 

His eyes grew very bright and expectant, as she put her 
hand in her pocket and drew forth a long twisted stick of 
red and white candy. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he exclaimed, and was down off 
the fence in a jiffy to display his prize. 

The ladies then passed into the cottage. Mrs. Moss 
received them with a grave but kindly welcome. 

“I suppose I know your errand,” she said, after a few 
minutes’ chat. “ The doctor was here yesterday and told 
me all about it. He says you want to take my Milton 
home with you.” 

The poor Avoman made such a visible effort against 
breaking down, and sustained herself so heroically, that 
Joanna choked up, and couldn’t possibly reply, but 
Rebecca said: 

“I am glad the doctor has been here, for he could put 


294 


A woman’s secret. 


the matter so much more practically and sensibly than we 
could. Miss Joanna means nothing but kindness toward 
you and yours, and we hope you will be able to see it in 
that way.” 

“Oh! I do, I do. I know that mothers can’t keep their 
children always with them. There’s Theodore, he ain’t 
satisfied here. He’s a-going down to 'New York next 
month ; he’s got a good place engaged there, where he can 
do better, he thinks, than he can here. At first, I thought 
I couldn’t give my consent, but I finally see that it ain’t 
for a mother that’s gi’n up and gi’n up all her life, to get 
selfish in her old age. If he can do better there, he must 
go.” 

Her voice would tremble a little, and she stopped and 
looked down and creased the hem of her apron in silence. 

“Yes,” said Rebecca, “that is the duty of a mother, to 
sacrifice her own to her children’s good. We hoped you 
would see this matter of Milton in that light.” 

“ Miss Rebecca,” said the mother, looking up suddenly, 
“this ain’t no such matter as that. Theodore’s brought 
up; I’ve done all for him that I can do; the natural time 
has come for him to leave home, and God seems to have 
ordered that he shall go. But Milton’s a baby yet, so to 
speak. I hain’t done my duty by him yet. To be sure, if 
Moses was to die, I might have to put more or less of ’em 
out to be brought up, and shouldn’t be likely to get such 
chances as this for ’em, neither; but, then, God hain’t 
called me to that trouble yet, nor I hope he won’t right 
away. If I give Milton up, it ain’t altogether because I 
think he’s a-goin’ to do better; because it ain’t clear to my 
mind, that money nor advantages can ever make up for 
the loss of an own mother. You’ll be good to him. Miss 
Joanna, I know that. It ain’t in your nature to be other- 
wise; but, then, he ain’t your fiesh and blood, as he is 
mine; you hain’t known his father and had patience with 


A woman’s secret. 


295 


him twenty years, as I have, and you can’t know and 
have patience wifli liis child. Still, I know you’ll be good 
to him.” 

“And you will be his mother still,” said Miss Joanna, 
“and shall see him whenever you choose. Oh, I could not 
be so selfish as that; to try and put any barrier between a 
child and his own mother.” 

“Yes, but there’ll be a barrier all the same. His life 
will be different from my life; he won’t set by the same 
things any more, that his brothers and sisters do ; and he 
may — God knows — get proud and feel above ’em.” 

Miss Joanna was silent. There was more in the depths 
of this woman’s soul than she could at once comprehend. 

“Money ain’t always a blessing,” continued Mrs. Moss, 
especially to children; nor advantages ain’t any more, 
unless they make good use of ’em. I’ve thought about it 
a good deal, and if it wa’n’t for nothing but the advant- 
ages, I shouldn’t let Milton go. If he stays where God 
put him, God will be responsible for him. If I go and 
put him out of the way of the blessings God gave him, for 
others that I think more of, then I take the responsibility, 
which I’m loath to do. I’d got just so far a-thinking about 
it, when I seemed to see another thing, and that was this. 
Now, Miss Joanna, I ain’t a-trying to set myself up, nor 
give myself airs. I’m just a-telling you the solemn truth, 
and I want you to know it, because I don’t want you to 
feel as if I sold my child for money. 

“There ain’t nobody in the world, out of my own family, 
that’s done more for me than Doctor Gaines has. He’s 
been a good friend to me, when I hadn’t many other 
friends to stand by me; and I know he sets more by you 
than by anything else living. Now, you two have got 
money and a good name, and good advantages every way. 
You’ve got everything but one, and that’s children to love 
you and be good to you in your old age, and to keep up 


296 


A woman’s secret. 


your name and memory when you are dead and gone. 
For, what good is a man’s life to him, if it is all to go 
down into the grave with him, and nothing but a tombstone 
to keep his memory from rotting. So, if I give you my 
boy — my baby,” the tears and the sobs would come th^n 
in spite of her, “ I don’t do it from any proud or selfish 
gladness that he’s to be a bigger man and have more 
money than his brothers; but because the doctor has given 
his best to me, which was care and kindness and sympathy 
when I needed ’em, and now I’m willing to give my best 
to him when he needs it; and to you, too. Miss Joanna, 
for I know how lonely you be, and I pity ye.” 

The tears were raining down Joanna’s pale cheeks, and 
Mrs. Moss was sobbing. 

“It is all true that you have said,” said Joanna, “and 
if I can help it, Mrs. Moss, you shall never have cause to 
regret your generosity.” 

There was some farther talk, and then it was settled 
that Milton should make the change the next day. He 
sobbed some when he understood the matter, and clung 
to his mother’s bosom, with childish passion; and the 
mother, how her heart yearned over him in that last 
embrace, the last when he should be hers, no pen can tell ; 
and as she gave him up to go, she said: 

“Don’t ever think, Miss Joanna, that I cared for the 
money; but I hope he will be a good boy, and a comfort 
to you and yours, as you grow old and need him.” 

And Joanna, seeing the strength and truthfulness of this 
mother’s heart, felt more humble in her presence than if 
she had been a queen. 

Rebecca had staid behind on that first evening, to ask 
a few questions about Theodore. 

“He’s bent upon going,” said his mother. “Seems 
like the boy’s possessed with the idea of being a rich 
man.” 


A woman’s secret. 


29T 


‘‘Yes, but does he realize what it is to leave home and 
friends, and go into such scenes of temptation as he must 
encounter in that great, wicked town?” 

“Ah ! that is it. Miss Rebecca, that is what troubles me 
most. I’ve tried to do my duty by Theodore, but when I 
think of it, I ain’t clear that I’ve done all I ought to by 
him. I’ve tried to have his father talk to him, but he 
won’t take nothing from his father as he would from me, 
and there’s some things I can’t talk to him about. But 
I’ve tried to do my duty by him, and must trust God for 
the rest. He’s been a good boy so far, ever since he 
got into business, and I do hope he’ll be good to the 
end.” 

Then she went on, with motherly care and pride, and 
told how many shirts she had made for him, and how many 
stockings, and how she had worked hard to buy him a 
handsome Bible to put in his trunk ; and when at last it 
was all told, she could only say: 

“ And, Miss Rebecca, won’t you pray for him, that he 
may be kept from all evil. He is my best hope and stay in 
this world, and I can’t — I can’t — lose him by reason of 
bad conduct.” 

“Indeed I will; and, Mrs. Moss, you must remember 
that his very pride and ambition will be a shield to 
him.” 

“ Oh ! I know that. Theodore won’t lie nor he won’t 
steal ; and with all he’s seen of liquor at home, I ain’t 
much afraid he’ll drink; but there’s other ways of badness ; 
and my boy, brought up in this quiet town, what does he 
know about ’em, and what can I tell him; and yet, if I 
could tell him, he’d take it better from me than from any- 
body else. Miss Rebecca, I can’t see clearly what my 
duty is.” 

Just then Theodore came in. He caught right quickly 
the tone of the two women’s talk. He said little while 


298 


A woman’s secret. 


Rebecca staid, but when she had gotie he put bis tWo 
hands on his mother’s shoulderSj and looking straight into 
ber eyes, be said: 

‘‘Don’t you worry about me, mother. I’ve got that in 
me that won’t give way to anything mean or disgraceful. 
When I come back to Wyndham, I shall never be ashamed 
to look you in the face, just as I am doing now. Mother, 
will you trust me ? ” 

“Yes, Theodore, I will,” and, from that moment, the 
mother’s heart was easy about her boy. 


A woman’s secret. 


299 


XXVIII. 

A man’s love. 

When, on the morning afterward, Mr. Gladstone 
reviewed the picnic, the only incidents throughout the 
length and breadth of the day’s occurrences which 
remained impressed upon his mind, were his pleasant 
chat with Rebecca under the whispering forest trees, and 
the look of pain in her face as she left him. 

All these years of steady, hard work at his profession, 
with always a deep and solemn purpose in view, had not 
left Mr. Gladstone a trifler. He had flirted a little with 
women lately, because such women as fell in his way had 
seemed to be good for little else than fluting. But since 
his acquaintance with Rebecca had deepened into a friend- 
ship, he had not been in a humor for trifling. Something 
more than the mere passion of his soul was touched. A 
new nature, a spiritual being, which he had before been 
scarcely conscious of possessing, seemed thrilling into 
subjective life. His vision was clearer; his senses more 
acute ; there was an uplifting of his soul into a purer 
atmosphere, a grander horizon than he had ever known 
before. Life in this new air took a joyous brightness, 
which was not altogether due to the rose-tint which, he 
was growing quite sensible, sufi’used it. Apart from this 
woman, who seemed born to set his soul free from all thrall- 
dom, and uplift him as on cherubic wings, was the cheering 
consciousness of this new fact, which he had never more 
than suspected before, that the outlook of his life could he 
so enlarged and glorified. His eyes were turned upward, to 
look at this woman, and the wealth of Ophir would not have 
bought her from his gaze, if she must be replaced by a 
woman who should draw him back again to his old level. 


800 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


The tender, lingering memory of those moments of 
refreshing, which he had passed at Rebecca’s side, deep- 
ened the remembrance of that look of pain which she 
wore at parting. 

“ The speech would have been contemptible,” he said to 
himself, “if it had not had power to wound that gentle 
heart. It shall be my task to extract the thorn;” and he 
hugged to himself a most delicious sense of coming joy, 
as he thought how he should win back the light into that 
face, which was growing so dear to him. 

But an obstacle lay in his way which he could not 
foresee. 

All through the gay scenes of that day, the words of 
Miss Lillian had rung incessant changes through Rebecca’s 
brain. 

“T know Mr. Gladstone very well, and he will never 
marry — her^ 

Indignant tears pressed up to her eyes, and were choked 
hotly back. Old unforgotten agonies wrenched her heart 
anew. There was a time when no one living would have 
spoken of her with that accent ; least of all. Miss Lillian 
Meredith. Was her life to be forever blighted by that 
ancient wrong? More poignant, if less deep, was the 
feeling of that new tenderness, which, now as never before, 
she saw must be uprooted. 

“Because he is noble,” she said, “I will not abuse him. 
I never yet intentionally brought dishonor on any human 
being. I will not commence with the man whom I — might 
love.” 

Therefore, when these two met again, they were very 
much at cross purposes. Mr. Gladstone was gentle, cour- 
teous, winning in his manners, as he had never been before. 
Rebecca steeled herself to be impassive, unresponding. 
It was a hard thing for her to do, for in this direction she 
was not strong, but very weak and yielding. Her heart 


A WOxVIAN’S secret. 


301 


ached so for tenderness and rest, that when she saw them 
offered to her with an intent which she w-as sure was honest, 
and in a measure which she knew would be full and satis- 
fying, it was very hard to turn her eyes coldly away, and 
seem neglectful. And Mr. Gladstone, driven sometimes 
to the point of despair, by her persistency, still gathered 
enough of this reluctance from her manner, to feed his 
hope, and grew more and more determined, day by day. 

She avoided him everywhere. Since the day of the 
picnic, he had never, for a moment, seen her alone. “If 
I could get five words with her privately,” he said, “I 
believe I could melt this barrier between us; could con- 
vince her that I am but too much in earnest ; could win 
her to give up this strange, unnatural opposition. For, 
let her seem as cold as she may, I do believe she is not 
insensible.” 

He might have written. He had thought often of that, 
but there was such an intense longing in his heart to look 
into her eyes, when the love-light should be welling up 
into them ; to watch, moment by moment, the swift, tender 
changes of her face ; the flushing and retreating color, the 
raising and drooping eyelids, the passionate yielding, the 
coy reticence of her manner, that he felt he could wait, 
almost indefinitely, for the sake of making that delicious 
goal at last. 

One August evening, entering Miss Joanna’s parlor, 
where he was a privileged guest, he found a group of 
ladies, representatives of some notable charity, monopo- 
lizing Miss Joanna; and standing at a window, looking 
out quite absently upon the sunset — Rebecca. He sent a 
little cry of thanksgiving upward, and having made his 
compliments to Miss Joanna, and excused himself till she 
should be at liberty, approached Rebecca. As she turned 
to receive his greeting, he thought he had never seen her 
look more lovely. She wore a dress of white muslin. 


302 


A woman’s secret. 


relieved only by a knot of blaok lace at the throat. A faint 
color enhanced the beauty of her clear, transparent skin. 
Her soft, luxuriant hair, its florid tint well kindled by a 
late sunbeam, was drawn back from the face, and coiled 
in heavy masses at her neck, while her eyes, half sad, half 
luminous with a tender light, shone on him like stars out 
of dusky evening skies. 

He took her hand without a word of reply to her quiet 
“ good evening.” 

“ My dear friend,” he said, “ I love you. Is there any 
need that you should shun me thus ? ” 

She looked up at him with eyes of such mute, pitiful 
dismay, that he could but apologize for his abruptness. 

“Forgive me,” he said; “I know you cannot answer me 
here; but won’t you give me five minutes alone with you? 
My buggy is at the door; when your call is ended, let me 
drive you home. Will you go now?” 

“ Oh ! ” she said, “ my friend, I would have spared you 
this, if you would have let me.” 

Her words and tears were both ominous, and he felt his 
heart sinking ; but he had gone too far now to retract. 
With one long, steady look at her face, which, half averted, 
was still plainly sufiused with pain, he turned to Miss 
Joanna, and gravely excusing himself in a way which long 
acquaintance made permissible, came back and ofiered his 
hand to Rebecca. Her shawl and dainty evening head- 
dress were in the hall, and she was quickly wrapped. 
The tenderness of his manner, as he placed her in the 
li>uggy, and adjusted her robes, was touched with the 
sadness her words had caused him; and he was seated 
by her side, and had headed the horse for a dim, secluded 
road, which led quite out of the town, before a word was 
spoken by either. 

“ Now, Rebecca,” he said, at length, with a gracious 
endeavor to be gay, “ I want to know my doom.” 


A woman’s secret. 303 

She put back the weakness which had fringed her eyes 
with tears, and made one grand effort for composure. 

“ Mr. Gladstone,” she said, “ I feel too deeply the honor, 
the joy, the bounty of your love, not to regret to see it 
wasted. If I could ever marry, you, of all men, need not 
despaii’ ; but I am doomed to loneliness.” 

He was very grave ; the pain, and the suddenness of it, 
blanching his cheek, and quenching the light from his eye. 

“Rebecca,” he said, “I knew, of course, that there 
was something in your life which you did not choose to 
speak about, but I never thought of this.” 

He was silent for a few minutes, thinking over, with 
that lightning-like celerity and skill which the mind 
acquires in such life-and-death emergencies, all the grave, 
sweet beauty and purity of her life in these five years 
that he had known her. 

“Rebecca,” he said, “you might trust me as you would 
trust — I had almost said God — in this matter, but I will 
not ask that. Only tell me, is this, of which you speak, 
absolute, irreversible ? ” 

She hesitated for a moment. ‘ 

“It is an absolute, irreversible fact,” she said at last. 

“And constitutes a positive, legal barrier to my hopes? 
Forgive me for pressing you so closely, but so much 
depends.” 

“Mr. Gladstone,” she said, “there is no legal barrier, 
but it is not the less positive for that.” 

With that the stern, critical habit of his mind gave way 
before his overmastering passion. 

“Rebecca,” he said, “tell me that you love me, put 
your hand in mine with true and honest frankness, and I 
will face the world with you.” 

“Mr. Gladstone,” she replied, “I have borne pain all my 
life, and at times the deeper brand of ignominy; but I 
never yet infiicted either, intentionally, and I never will. 


304 


A woman’s secret. 


If I should say I loved you, and then should marry you, 
I should prove my vows untrue.” 

He relapsed into a grave and thoughtful silence. 
Rebecca was suffering untold agonies, which finally 
wrenched out these few painful words. 

“And yet,” she said, “I cannot bear that you should 
think too hardly of me.” 

“I do not, Rebecca,” he interrupted. “There could be 
no crime which these last five years would not atone for ; 
and out of crime they could never have sprung.” 

They had plunged down rocky hill-sides, into a deep 
and tangled wood, where the dusk, dew-laden and full ol 
earth-smells, was scarcely penetrated by the lingering 
glory of the twilight outside. 

“Rebecca,” said Mr. Gladstone, at length, “have you 
never told this — your history — to any one?” 

She hesitated. “To no one but Mrs. Darrell, and to 
her only the outlines.” 

“And do you think she has an equal right with me to 
your confidence?” 

“Oh! my friend, my friend,” she cried in agony that 
could not be controlled, “I cannot tell you.” 

“Rebecca,” he said, and his voice was full of restrained 
tenderness, “you cannot know — it is impossible — how 
fully you might trust me. I do not reproach you for that, 
but I do feel that there may be some morbid sensitiveness 
of yours; some old, old wound, unhealed and sorer than 
It ought to be, that would not turn my love aside, but 
would only make it the more tender; and which, perhaps, 
if you would bring it to the light, might take a healthier 
tone, and so at last get cured, but which kept back in 
darkness may work needless ruin to both of us. Won’t 
you permit me to tell Mrs. Darrell of my love for yoti, and 
to ask her, as an old and well-tried friend, if she can bid 
me God-speed in my wooing.” 


A woman’s secret. 305 

“Oh! Mrs. Darrell is a woman, and my sister, and she 
can forgive everything.” 

Mr. Gladstone had been deeply shocked, and he suffered 
intense pain; but the love which this woman had wakened 
in his heart was only rooted in the strong physical stratum 
of his nature; it stretched its branches and bore its blos- 
soms far up in a higher, more celestial element. Her 
heart and soul were pure, he knew that. This other stain 
which her words but dimly conveyed to his mind, if he 
interpreted her rightly — it grieved and shocked, but did 
not wholly dismay him. 

They rode on in silence. “Mr. Gladstone,” said Rebecca, 
“ I cannot bear this much longer. Will you please to turn 
the horse toward home ? ” 

He obeyed her. They were two miles out of the town. 

“My friend,” he said, “I have thought this all over, 
and I cannot give you up. I will not go to Mrs. Darrell, 
since you seem not to wish it; but I appeal to your own 
honor and conscience. If an equally grave fault existed 
to your knowledge upon my side, equally remote in time, 
equally disconnected in circumstances, would it weigh 
seriously on your mind against my claim?” 

They were driving over an open country now, and the 
moonlight swept across her face as she lifted it to him, 
lighting up its drenched and tear-stained beauty, and 
giving to her smile a saintly sweetness. 

“ I cannot think of you except as stainless,” she said, 
“ and if my life were as free from stain as my soul is, I 
should not blush to put my hand in yours, in mutual 
interchange of loving vows. I say this not to encourage 
you ; but simply to vindicate myself, as, I take it, every 
human creature has the right to do. I would not have you 
think that you had loved unworthily, for so base a false- 
hood could only injure both of us. But you have loved 
most unhappily, and I beg you, as soon as may be, to 
N3 


306 


A woman’s secret. 


renounce that love, and forget one who could bring only 
misfortune and disgrace to your proud, unsullied name.” 

He threw the rein over his arm ; he put his arm around 
her; he took her hand in his. He looked into her eyes 
with a steady, strong, triumphant glance. “Rebecca,” 
he said, “say that you love me; I will be put off with no 
more evasions.” 

She met his eye with a mild, regretful glance, that yet 
was so deep, so full of unspoken passion and yearning. 

“Yes,” she said, “I love you; I would that I did not.” 

“You shall unsay the half of that before the moon goes 
down,” he said, “for the love I bear for you is something 
which misfortune aud disgrace can never turn aside. God 
gave your soul to my soul, and mine to yours, from all 
eternity, and no work of man shall have power to abrogate 
the gift. Rebecca, put your hand in mine and tell me 
that you love me, and that you only hope, as time goes on, 
to love me more and more.” 

She did not say the words so boldly again, but neither 
did she append to them the offensive wish. 

Mrs. Darrell, sitting alone upon her front piazza, enjoy- 
ing the moonlight, saw a carriage driving slowly up the 
avenue. It stopped at the door, and Mr. Gladstone assisted 
Rebecca to alight. She stepped forward, peering curiously 
into Rebecca’s flushed, disordered face. 

“Mrs. Darrell,” said the gentleman, with steady, joyous 
tones, “congratulate me ; I am an engaged young man.” 

Rebecca tripped past them into the house, her face 
burning with blushes. 

“I do congratulate you most sincerely,” said Mrs. 
Darrell. “No one living knows Reba so well as I do. 
Therefore, no one else knows so well as I how deeply 
worthy she is of your unspeakable love and tenderness.” 

“ I thank you for saying that,” he said earnestly, offering 
her his hand, “because it will enable me all the more 


A woman’s secret. 


307 


effectually to combat the misgivings with which she 
perplexes herself. Good night, Mrs. Darrell; take good 
care of my pearl among women.” 

Mrs. Darrell followed him with her eyes as he rode 
down the avenue, and rejoiced greatly in her heart. 

“They are worthy of each other,” she said, “and what 
more could I say of either of them. 


308 


A WOMAN S SECllET. 


XXIX. 

THE RIGHT OP A WOMAN TO HAVE A HUSBAND. 

Nature divides the life of woman into three grand eras — 
girlhood, womanhood, old age. With Laura Darrell the 
second of these was drawing to a close. It is then that the 
Great Mother, with strict fidelity, calls each of her daugh- 
ters to account for her stewardship, drops a tear and a sigh 
over the inevitable penalty of each long-forgotten sin, 
breathes a benison of purest love for every duty faithfully 
performed, and then sets her seal forever upon the irrevo- 
cable Past. 

Released thus from serving in the Holiest of Holies, 
Laura Darrell was now, in the purest sense, a citizen of 
the world. But this time of intimate, mysterious com- 
muning with Nature was one of severe physical trial. Her 
husband tried to comfort her. 

“Laura,” he said, “I have been a slave to business long 
enough. I’m going to sell out my active interest in the 
mills, retaining only a silent partnership, and that will give 
me plenty of time to stay with you, and take care of you. 
In the years gone by, I don’t think I have always done my 
duty by you, but now I’m going to make amends.” 

He finished within a week the contemplated arrange- 
ment, and Laura felt that now indeed she should have a 
husband. 

But Mr. Darrell found that he could not throw off the 
habit of years like a garment. His mornings hung heavily 
on his hands, if he did not go down to the oflice and keep 
the run of things there. If he staid at home in the after- 
noon, or took Laura out to drive, he missed the stimulus 
of his old keen activity, and very likely grew listless and 
indifferent. Little by little, too, it became evident that, 


A AVOxMAN’S secret. 


309 


from living so long in a region of thought and feeling so 
apart from that of his wife, there had grown to be a great 
gull between them, which it was exceedingly difficult for 
him to pass. When Laura talked to him of her headaches, 
her nervousness, and all the other depressing symptoms 
of her condition, she might as well have talked Greek. 
He heard her, felt sorry for her in a general way, but had 
absolutely no sympathetic appreciation of her feelings. 

A great deal is said, and justly, concerning the need of 
training young women to make good wives; but who ever 
thought it necessary to train up young men to make good 
husbands? Michelet, in his Ij Amour ^ has indeed made a 
step in this direction, and, considering that it is a French- 
man talking to Frenchmen, he might have done much 
worse. The intention, indeed, of the whole book is 
worthy of much praise ; but the execution of it has 
involved so many errors, and some of them so flagrant, 
and, from anybody but a Frenchman, whose vision has 
been distorted by the unblushing immorality of the people 
among whom he lives, so insulting to woman, that the 
book amounts after all to no more than a finger-post. 

In marrying, a man takes into his care and keeping a 
being not only the purest in spirit which the world contains, 
but also the most exquisite and delicate in physical organ- 
ization — an organization with finer adjustments and nobler 
uses than any man possesses, however perfect he may 
himself be in physical development. This being, whom 
he calls his wife, has her seasons of exaltation and depres- 
sion ; her nodal points of silence as well as her tremulous 
chords of melody, of which he knows nothing but the 
external phenomena. Furthermore, she has a whole range 
of experiences, continuing for a year or more at a time, and 
of the highest possible importance to himself, herself, and 
the race, in which he cannot possibly share, except as she 
admits him to her confidence, and this confidence it is not 


310 


A woman’s secret. 


her nature to impart, except under the tenderest and most 
delicately appreciative circumstances. The most refined 
physical manifestation is that which proceeds from the 
nerves ; and of this nervous sensibility she has more, by 
virtue of that part of her organization which constitutes 
her a woman, than he has in his whole body, as the most 
enlightened physicians readily allow. She is, therefore, 
correspondingly quick and delicate in her feelings, and 
shy and timid in her manner of expressing them, except 
as they are drawn out by means of her love for her 
husband, which impels her to share everything, even 
this, her most sacred inheritance, with him. But the 
husband at his marriage knows of these facts only the 
hard, material outlines; - because medical books, being 
all the work of men, contain no more than this. If the 
husband be a coarse, or an unobservant, or a preoccupied 
man, he may be for a lifetime the companion of a woman, 
and her deepest meaning be all the time as much a sealed 
mystery to him, as the curve of the Ellipse was to all 
astronomers, until, at last, the truth slowly broke upon 
the world that it was the sweep of God’s hand for the 
stars to follow in. 

And she all the time bears the burdens alone, which it 
is his right and duty to be daily sharing with her. 

All honor to the French savants of Medicine ; from 
Geoifrey St. Hilaire, through a brilliant succession, to 
Du Bois and Cazeau, and others of like spirit in our own 
time. Ten thousand, and twice ten thousand thanks to 
them for letting in the so much needed light of science 
upon the old vexed question of the essential purity of 
woman’s nature. But can they expect those poor, hapless 
bodies, fished out of the Seine, stark and cold, to reveal 
to them the glowing secret of womanhood? 

Oh ! fathers, and brothers, and husbands, if you would 
study the hearts and lives of the dear companions of your 


A woman’s secret. 


311 


homes with tenderness, and purity, and love, you might 
shame these workers in poor, dead matter, by the brilliancy 
of your discoveries. 

Laura learned all these things by sad experience. In a 
month’s time, the story of her daily aud nightly distresses 
had grown a weariness to her husband; his patience was 
exhausted, and if he ever spoke of her ill-health at all, it 
was to declare that, if there was one nuisance and vexa- 
tion in this life greater than all others, it was a sick wife. 

If the husband is ill, it is his wife’s first duty to nurse 
him and wait upon him with all due patience, and gentle- 
ness, and fortitude. If the wife is sick, it is generally 
considered that she is making a very heavy, if not an 
unreasonable demand upon her husband’s time and tem- 
per. Let her, by all means, get well as soon as pbssible, 
if she expects his love to outlive the trial. 

And now the great temptation of Laura’s life assailed 
her. Her husband’s love, in times like this, fell far short 
of her actual and just requirements. She could not make 
her soul contented with it. Was it not an occasion to 
beckon the tempter to her side? Laura Darrell had a 
strong mind, and a pure heart, and no outward sign or 
token gave evidence of the inward weakness ; but many a 
delicate and over-tasked woman has gone to her doom 
through just this gap in conjugal duties. And the world 
has condemned her so much the more because she had 
— such a good husband. 

But in this, as in many another time of trial, Laura 
leaned on her friend. 

“Reba,” she said, “you must give up your copying, 
and during all your spare hours devote yourself to me.” 
And Mr. Gladstone, who had an interest, now, that this 
woman should not be overworked, about the same time 
refused to give her farther employment. So, after office 
hours, the two women had long talks together. 


312 


A woman’s secret. 


There was one thing which Ralph could do, and did do, 
without stint, and that was to watch the issues of new 
books, and keep these two women provided with the 
mental aliment they so much loved. To be sure the doctor 
had said: “You must let books alone;” and Laura did 
abstain from laborious reading ; but she took great delight 
in watching the march of thought; and in culling here and 
there the most significant tokens of its progi’ess. And to 
all these suggestions, she ever added much that was the 
product of her own quick and fertile brain. 

“I am so glad,” she said to Reba, one day, “to see 
this Woman Question everywhere growing in import- 
ance. In British homes, and Roman studios, and French 
ateliers, and in our own American halls of legislation, it is 
the constantly recurring theme. It is, to be sure, only the 
moi’e superficial aspects of it which are now considered. 
There are deeps on deeps yet unsounded, but the eternal 
underlying principles will be reached at length ; and then 
it will be found that, as, in the original creation, the law 
of precedence was, first the male and then the female ; and 
as, though men of science are slow to see it, the same law 
still holds in human reproduction, so the eras of the race 
arrange themselves. First, the material and masculine 
one; second, and formed from its substance, as woman 
from the rib of man, the feminine or spiritual one.” 

“Very like, very like,” parenthesized Ralph, who had 
strolled into the room during the conversation, and sat 
reading a magazine. “ The individual woman always will 
have the last word, as everybody knows ; why shouldn’t 
the typical woman insist on the same privilege, in regard 
to the world’s afiairs.” 

Laura went on without heeding him. “So far, woman 
has lived under protest; a riddle, a perplexity to all 
beholders, and too often to herself; seen by poets as a 
princess in disguise, and by practical men as an escaped 


A woman’s secret. 


313 


lunatic, sadly in need of a straight jacket. Seeming to 
herself to have inherited a nature as sad, and profound, 
and mysterious, as that of the ancient sphinx, yet patiently, 
though painfully, biding her time. The ages only can 
interpret the Divine, but they are in themselves the mirror 
of Ilis Being, and they will at last fully reflect His whole 
purpose concerning woman. Thinking of all this, and 
seeing how slowly women prepare themselves for the great 
coming change, I long to cry aloud : 

“ ‘ You are queens, my sisters;put on your ermine! Let 
every thought, and word, and deed, be worthy of your 
royal lineage! Let your lives unroll themselves before the 
world, in a pageantry of honor, fortitude, devotion, purity, 
before which the splendors of the Field of the Cloth of 
Gold shall grow pale ! Our brothers have subdued the 
world to the power of the flesh. It is ours to subdue it to 
the power of the spirit.’” 

“ That would be a very different cry from the one which 
has sounded in the ears of woman for six thousand years,” 
said Rebecca. “ So long as labor was deemed an unmiti- 
gated evil, it is not strange that the pain and peril of child- 
bearing should have been looked upon as a weakness and 
a curse ; but, since labor is found to be beneficient, and of 
true dignity, one would think that the vocation of woman, 
also, ought to be rescued from the ancient ban.” 

“ It stings my soul with scorn and indignation,” said 
Laura, “ to hear the functions of woman stigmatized as a 
shame and an infirmity. When such teachings are so 
universal, when to the pain and sufiering which a woman 
sees before her, to be borne, in most cases, with little 
help from her husband, is added a sense of inferiority and 
ignominy, it is no wonder that thousands have recourse to 
the most cruel and unnatural expedients for avoiding them. 
It is a burning shame and disgrace to woman, but it is one 
for which men are fully one-half responsible.” 

O 


314 


A woman’s secret. 


“ I have often thought,” said Reba, “ when I have 
heard the sex reproached with never having produced a 
genius equal to that of Shakspeare, or Milton, or Goethe, 
that the world greatly misconceives the line of woman’s 
power. The sex may or may not ever produce such exam- 
ples of intellectual greatness ; but it is very certain, that, 
without the agency of women, these men could never have 
been born geniu'ses. Men like Bonaparte and Shakspeare 
may doubtless owe much of their greatness to the effect 
of seemingly fortuitious circumstances, upon the organ- 
ization of the mother, as Bonaparte certainly did, and 
Shakspeare most probably; but it is safe to assert that 
a Washington could only be born of a woman whose 
soul was built up in the most noble and harmonious 
proportions. And even of* Christ, it may be said, without 
irreverence, that His human nature could never have 
reached its perfect poise and respondence to the divinity 
within it, if it had been developed from any flawy or 
discordant source.” 

“ Reba, the more I think these things over, the clearer 
it becomes to me that the progress of the world, or 
what is the same thing, the development of the race, 
depends mainly upon the women who are mothers. Women 
are God’s agents for renewing the spiritual life of the 
world ; and during the time of the direct exercise of her 
maternal functions, nature sets the mother carefully apart 
from all profane or unholy uses ; guards her on every hand 
from the ordinary perils of human life, and impresses upon 
her nervous system a peculiar sensitiveness, not only to all 
untoward agencies, that she may withdraw herself from 
them, but also to all pure, and elevating, and refining 
influences, that she may drink them in, and so expand and 
uplift her own soul, for the expansion and uplifting of the 
new soul which is being created. If women would only 
speak aloud, and tell the world what they know concerning 


A woman’s secret. olo 

these super-masculine experiences, there would be proof 
brought to convince the most scornful.” 

“And let us hope, to imbue the minds of women with a 
healthy, cheerful sense of the responsibility and high honor 
of their holy calling ; to break the bonds of their selfishness, 
to open their eyes to true wisdom, and so to help on by a 
mighty impetus the millennial glory.” 

At that moment, Ralph threw down his magazine, and 
joined the discussion. He had grown a little stout with 
his advancing years, and had now and then a thread of 
silver scattered through his curling hair, but was still a 
remarkably handsome man of forty-five, with the alertness 
of his manner subdued, by leisure, into a look of keen 
intelligence, mingled with good humor. He was just in 
time to catch the tenor of Reba’s last remark. 

“Woman’s rights and the millennium! ” he exclaimed, 
with the familiarity of a man in his own house. “My 
dear women, you are carrying this matter too far. When 
you talk about these exclusive experiences of women, 
you make a very one-sided affair of it, forgetting that men, 
too, have their exclusive experiences. What does a 
woman know about the troubles and perplexities of a 
business man? or, what does the wife of a poet, if she 
be an ordinary good house-wife, know of the grand 
imaginations and inspirations of the great man’s soul? I 
tell you, there are two sides to the story.” 

“We are speaking of quite a different thing from all 
that. These things are incidental, mere circumstances 
common to both sexes. It may just as well be the woman 
— in France commonly is — who carries on the business 
and experiences the perplexities; or who has the poet 
soul and is mated with the common-place man, as Mrs. 
Hemans and Mrs. Norton were. But this other thing is a 
matter quite separate, in which every woman — from her 
who scours knives and scrubs floors for a living, to the 


316 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


queen upon her throne — has a share, and to Avhich no 
man, from highest to lowest, can be admitted. The func- 
tions of woman which are additional to those of man, 
— the sacred endowment of Heaven to the mothers of 
the race — impose upon her, from the moment of matu- 
rity, conditions both physical and mental, of health and 
disease, which are utterly impossible to him, and for 
which he has no counterbalancing experience. The func- 
tion of maternity is not a small and unimportant one, but, 
as reproduction is always and everywhere the highest aim 
of physical life, a grand and crowning one. The organism 
employed is only less complex and sensitive than the brain, 
and the physical experiences to which it gives rise form 
the most varied and important modifications of the human 
system known to medical science. Is it, therefore, to be 
for a moment supposed, that the mental experiences 
connected with it are less important and less varied? 
When women are sufficiently well trained to write medical 
books, the truth about this matter will be much better 
understood than at present. Then we shall know that all 
that vast range of diagnostics which has baffled the skill 
and intuition of physicians of all ages, is not the infliction 
of an arbitrary vengeance, but the indication of nature’s 
beneficence toward the forming soul.” 

“Well,” said Ralph, resignedly, “of course, you are out 
of my reach now; but, if all you say is true, it appears to 
me that the sooner one half of the sex turn doctors, to 
expound these things to the other half and to the world, 
the better. Judging by my own limited observation, it is 
not to be wondered at, that physicians of the male sex are 
puzzled. I always thought it was an indication of Divine 
goodness toward man that He spared him all these things, 
and made an inferior sort of creature on purpose to bear 
them for him.” 

“That has been the usual comfortable supposition of 


A woman’s secret. 


317 


men,” said Laura, “ and too many women have taken it 
ready-made from their hands ; have been contented to 
consider themselves the scape-goats of the race in this 
matter of suffering ; to put on long faces, and say with 
Shylock, that ‘ sufferance is the badge of all our tribe,’ and 
at the most to wonder why God, who is, as they are 
taught, a being of love and justice, should manifest such 
partiality to the stronger sex.” 

“ Oh ! the curse covers all that, you know,” said Ralph, 
complacently. 

“ So the curse of Ham was said to cover African slavery, 
but the cover got too small, one day, and the slaves went 
free. And so I fancy it will be in the other case. Seriously, 
Ralph, God is not unjust, and never inflicts extraordinary 
pains, except as a means of extraordinary good.” 

“Well, you’ve a great work before you, if you expect 
to oust men from the comfortable position of superiority 
which they have enjoyed for six thousand years, with all 
the privileges and perquisites attached. I wish you 
success, but you’ll need something more than good 
wishes.” 

It was half banter — half earnest — but Rebecca said to 
herself, as he left the room — 

“ The millB of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small ; 

With patience stands He waiting, with exactness grinds He all.” 


318 


A woman’s secret. 


XXX. 


THE VERDICT OF THE SEWING CIRCLE. 

When Mr. Slade left Mrs. Darrell’s presence upon the 
occasion heretofore chronicled, he was full of wrath and 
indignation. If there is one prerogative of men which is 
held by the sex in general more high, and sacred, and 
indefeasible, than any other, it is that of making them- 
selves as vile as they please in the matter of licentiousness. 
Women may gently expostulate with them concerning 
their materiality in religious things, and they will sigh 
profoundly and repentantly over the error of their ways; 
they may inveigh against the use of alcoholic liquors and 
tobacco, and the men will still, in their better moods, cry 
peccavi, with genuine humility; even the charge of gaming 
and recklessness of living, they will meet with a reticence 
which is not vindictive ; but let a woman dare to point her 
finger in the direction of the unlawful indulgence of their 
lust, and every quill on the porcupine’s back is erect in an 
instant. 

Men will make laws to punish every other species of 
crime, but this ; but herein they will brook no interference 
whatever. In this matter they will be absolute, un trammeled, 
defiant of God and their fellows. If there is any reason 
at all for this, it is that they have been taught that it is a 
folly to injure themselves, a crime to injure their fellow- 
man, but a mere matter of caprice whether or not they 
will be just to this weak creature which nature has provided 
for their use. 

It was exactly in this spirit that Mr. Slade resented the 
indignity offered him by Mrs. Darrell. His first impulse 
was the natural one of shame and decency, to conceal the 


A woman’s secret. 


319 


shaft, but almost instantaneously the other feeling con- 
quered it. Long before lie reached his lodgings, he had 
said to himself : 

“Mrs. Darrell is — Mrs. Darrell; but she shall neverthe- 
less be taught that she cannot interfere in a man’s private 
affairs in this way, with impunity. There are other women 
in this town just as good as Mrs. Darrell, who will not be 
sorry for an occasion to wound her pride. AVe’ll give the 
matter an airing.” 

If a woman is to be hounded, the rule is to set the 
'vwomen on. There is a class of them that are well trained 
to the purposes of their masters, and they have naturally 
a keener scent for evil, a more vivid imagination, and 
stronger powers of vituperation than those gentlemen 
possess. 

It was not a week before the village was ablaze with 
scandal. There was a class, as there always will be, in 
every order-loving town, whose verdict was, “ Served him 
right.” Their sentiment was, if the law cannot be made 
to reach a man’s immoralities, something must ; and indi- 
viduals have a perfect right to take the matter of self-defense 
into their own hands. Below that was a class of men, not 
themselves immaculate, to whom, of course, self-preserva- 
tion was the first law ; then a class of women, who had 
husbands, or sons, or brothers, who needed protection, and 
who had been well drilled to cry out that this was a matter 
in which the modesty of women commanded them to be 
silent ; and, still below them, a class of women and young 
girls, the natural “vines,” whose one prevailing instinct 
was to stand by every man through right and wrong, 
because who could tell which one of the sex might be 
their future husband. 

This latter class was the more numerous, in this case, 
because the gentleman in question was very popular in his 
own set. A circle of young ladies, among whom Miss 


320 


A woman’s secret. 


Lillie Meredith was very prominent, “ adored” him. These 
unanimously resolved, to use their own elegant phraseology, 
to “ stick up ” for Leslie Slade, under any and all circum- 
stances. 

Of course, with all this publicity, this affair could not be 
kept out of the sewing circle, where the open review of 
the young man’s life led to a great deal of remark, some 
for, some against the subject of it, which cannot properly 
be repeated here; but which resulted in setting many 
sensible and judicious people thinking, that, if ever the 
homes of society are protected against these invaders of 
family peace, the good work must be done, nay, that it 
ought properly to be done by women. If they have not 
the necessary spirit and conscience, where in the world 
shall these requisites be found ? 

Yet, after all, when the evening came, and Mr. Leslie 
Slade appeared in the parlor, he perceived little diminution 
in the ardor of his welcome. Some few there were who 
looked a trifle coldly at him, but the evident zeal with 
which Miss Meredith, and her set, strove to allay any 
suspicion of disloyalty which might arise in the young 
man’s mind, more than soothed his sensitive vanity. 

Toward the close of the evening, happening to And 
himself alone with Miss Meredith, in a corner of the piazza, 
he ventured to say to her: 

“ Is it fancy, do you think ; or is Mrs. Evans a little less 
cordial to your unworthy servant, than usual?” 

“ I’m sure I can’t say about that,” said Miss Lillie. “ I 
only know that some of the ladies have been abusing you 
fearfully, this afternoon. You may be sure I wasn’t one.” 

“ Is that so ? I have to thank you, I am sure. But would 
you be so kind as to tell me what were the charges they 
brought?” 

“ Oh ! I couldn’t do that; but it all grew out of that 
cruel speech of Mrs. Darrell.” 


A woman’s secret. 


321 


“For which 1 never cared the snap of my finger. Mrs. 
Darrell is — insignificant.” 

“ Perfectly so, in such matters. She sets herself up too 
much above her neighbors, for anybody to care about her.” 

“But, then, I suppose her position might give her words 
some weight.” 

“With certain people, perhaps; but not with those who 
are your friends. I’m sure I think the whole affair in very 
bad taste, and so I am sure does every one. Let’s say no 
more about it.” 

“ Certainly not, if you wish it. I can think of twenty 
pleasanter things to talk about,” and he went on talking, 
no doubt, about those twenty other things, for the two 
were missed from the parlor, and their absence commented 
upon, before they had left that well shaded nook among 
the Madeira vines. 

Yet, cavalierly as they had disposed of Mrs. Darrell and 
her opinion, it is nevertheless certain, that, from that very 
time, Mr. Leslie Slade was looked upon with increasingly 
less favor by the better class of society in Wyndham. For 
the first six months the change was scarcely apparent ; at 
the end of a year it was quite so. By that time, he began 
to feel that there was but one means of salvation for him; 
he must marry. Miss Lillian Meredith was not the woman 
he would have chosen eighteen months before ; but, when 
it became evident that his chances for doing better were 
growing few, he made the most of her devotion to him, 
and asked her to become his wife. Her delight was 
unspeakable, and she named an early day. 

At this very sewing circle, Mr. Linscott met the object 
of his affections, and enjoyed also a half hour’s tete-dt,-tUe 
upon the piazza. Mr. Linscott had been fully satisfied, 
when he first became acquainted with Miss Ridalhuber, 
that she was possessed of that gentle, yielding disposition, 
which he considered of the first importance in a wife. 


322 


A woman’s secret. 


He was not yet, and very likely never would be, wholly 
undeceived. It had, nevertheless, invariably happened, 
that, when their tastes or opinions differed, she had not 
been the one to yield. On thi« particular occasion, she 
had mentioned to him the time when it would be necessary 
for her to leave Wyndham. 

“ So soon, my angel,” was the reply. “ Can you not be 
brought to reconsider that decision? ” 

“I should be very happy to, but papa’s directions are 
quite explicit.” 

“ And you are so obedient a daughter that you do not 
think of expostulating. Azarian, I yield at once. Such 
obedience on your part delights me. There is something 
in the spectacle of a gentle, refined, intelligent woman, 
yielding herself graciously to the dictation of her male 
protectors, simply because Providence has so ordered, that 
touches me inexpressibly.” 

“I have always supposed,” said Azarian, meekly, “that 
it was my duty as a Christian to be obedient, and I hope I 
have endeavored to perform it.” 

And then they went on to talk of the wedding day. 
Mr. Linscott proposed May. He was the more particular 
about May, because, independently of his natural haste in 
the matter, it would be inconvenient for him to be absent 
from his parish later in the season than that. 

“How very unfortunate,” said Miss Ridalhuber; “I am 
sure mamma would never consent to my being married in 
May.” 

“Why not, my sweetest?” 

“Because it is the anniversary month of poor, dear 
brother John’s death.” 

“Ah!” said Mr. Linscott, regretfully, “let us say April, 
then ; I should like that even better.” 

“Of course,” said Azarian, “I should prefer to please 
you in this matter, but — ” 


A woman’s secret. 


323 


“What is it, Azarian? You must never be afraid to 
speak to me with the most entire confidence.” 

“You know brother Paul will be studying medicine 
during the winter, at Philadelphia. He will not be able 
to be at home before the first of May, and I could never 
think of making preparations for the wedding without 
Paul’s assistance. I have always been so accustomed to 
rely on Paul. You know I am not at all a self-reliant 
person.” 

“But June is really a very inconvenient month for me.” 

“Oh! but you have such capacities for disposing of 
things. Do you know, you always reminded me before — 
before I at all thought of you as a lover — when I saw 
your energy and determination — of Napoleon’s boast that 
he controlled circumstances.” 

Mr. Linscott smiled. That bit of adroit flattery had 
done its work. It was settled that June was to be the 
month. 

“Early in June,” he still stipulated. 

“The very first week, if you like.” 

“Mr. Linscott kissed her, and inly congratulated him- 
self upon having secured such a dear, confiding, obedient 
creature for a wife. 

That same evening, as Miss Ridalhuber stood combing 
out her fine hair before the glass, Mrs. Evans entered the 
room. 

“Azarian, dear,” she said, “I noticed that you had a 
long conversation with Mr. Linscott this evening, and I 
could not rest till I knew if the wedding day was 
appointed.” 

“It is,” said Azarian, calmly. 

“And when is it to be?” 

“The fourth of next June.” 

“I thought he would have been in more haste.” 

“He was, rather, but I vetoed a short engagement as 


824 


A woman’s secret. 


improper. I didn’t intend to forego the pleasure of 
another winter in town. To come to the country to reside 
in summer is bad enough. I never could endure a winter 
to commence with.” 

“But why not April or May? I really am impatient to 
see the thing consummated; it is of so much importance 
to you, you know, to be well settled in life.” 

“Yes; but I’m in no particular hurry. As the case 
stands now, I think I can afford to wait. As for April or 
May, spring things can never be really elegant, you know, 
and they only last a few weeks. At the first of June I 
can have the benefit of the summer styles, and then my 
dresses will be fresh till October. As every one will know 
that I am about to be married, I shall get very little for 
spring, so that all the expense can be for the trousseau. 
Besides, I have a fancy for June, and I shall go to Saratoga 
on my wedding tour.” 

“ Such a cool head as you have, Azarian, and how you 
do manage that man.” 

“ That last ought to be no wonder to you, Elise.” 

“Mark would be very impracticable, I know, if it were 
not for my infiuence over him; but, then, I am not half so 
cool as you. However, I congratulate you with all sincerity. 
I suppose men need managing, else God would not have 
adapted women so exactly to the purpose.” 

Miss Ridalhuber acquiesced with perfect simplicity; but 
a disinterested observer might possibly query whether, 
after all, it was the Divine intention that a woman should 
use the very considerable power which is undoubtedly 
entrusted to her, wholly for her own selfish purposes. 


A woman’s secret. 


325 


XXXI. 

MILTON GAINES, JUNIOR. 

Village scandal had few terrors for Mrs. Darrell, and 
even the fact that Mr. Slade and his party had voted her 
“insignificant,” did not in the least disturb her peace of 
mind. She was far more deeply interested in the success 
of Joanna’s experiment with Milton Gaines, Junior. The 
doctor, with his usual regard for the forms, had already 
announced his intention of obtaining legal sanction for 
this change in the name of the youth; and Miss Joanna’s 
taste and industry had so modified his personal appearance 
that a stranger would scarcely have imagined that he was 
not “to the manner born.” There was very little said 
about it, but the truth was that the hearts of these two 
lonely people were greatly cheered by the presence of this 
little child. When people are young, they may fancy 
children are a nuisance, and purchase some years of selfish 
comfort and freedom from annoyance by dispensing with 
their presence. But, as they advance in years, they inva- 
riably feel how wise is nature’s way of completing her 
circle, by linking the hand of the aged in the tender clasp 
of the little child. The doctor had given his life to these 
women who so much needed it, and he had never deeply 
repented the sacrifice. But it was a consolation to him, 
now that the silver threads outnumbered the dark ones in 
his locks, to lead this child by the hand, to hold him upon 
his knee, to impart to him some of the many lessons which 
his long experience of life had taught him. He liked to 
think, too, that the boy bore his name ; that by and by, 
when he should be laid in the church-yard, and his life 
should be only a quickly fading memory, this boy should 


326 


A woman’s secret. 


keep his name still fresh in the hearts of men, and should, 
mayhap, by his virtues and usefulness, add to it, if not 
increase of honors, yet, in some measure, length of days. 

It was curious to hear the grave aphorisms which the 
old man poured into the ears of the boy, and to watch the 
look of intelligence upon the child’s face, which seemed 
to say that the heart also was impressed. Some childish 
loss had brought the tears to Milton’s eyes. 

“My boy,” said the doctor, gravely, yet not unkindly, 
“fools and heroes never weep. The — boy — who never 
weeps, is — a — hero; the — man — who never weeps, is — 
a fool — or a knave.” 

So Milton dried his tears, and his heart grew big with 
the thought of being a hero. 

As for Miss Joanna, she took on the mother-care as she 
had never done for little Kitty. A woman’s heart goes 
out with so much deeper yearning and tenderness to her 
sons than to her daughters. Their future seems so much 
wider ; the scope of their lives so much grander, and, 
alas! the perils and dangers which beset them so much 
more fatal. So Joanna, like any true mother, mingled, 
with the mending of trowsers, tender, foreboding prayers. 
She emptied the heterogeneous contents of play-boxes, 
with strange yearnings for indices of future character. 
She trained the youth in manners and morals with a 
trembling, at times, almost a hopeless forecast. So, day 
by day, her best and most intimate life grew into his life, 
till, if he coughed, she trembled; and if, over-tired from 
play, he fell into a flushed and restless sleep, she called 
the doctor, to know if the child hadn’t a fever; because 
if he should die, you know ! 

And people sighed about poor Joanna Gaines, that she 
was wearing her life out for that child, and wondered the 
doctor did not interfere; as if every true mother living 
had not worn out her own life in just exactly that way, to 


A woman’s secret. 


827 


make fresh, and strong, and beautiful, the lives of her 
children. Worn it out, did I say? God does not suffer 
such lives to wear out. He renews them day by day. 
Statistics will show you that, of all His human creatures, 
He gives to mothers the longest lives. 

But Joanna had other trials. She was naturally a deeply 
religious person, and her whole soul was bent upon giving 
this boy a thorough doctrinal training. When she had 
commenced this course with Kitty, beginning duly and 
conscientiously, when the child reached her third year, 
with the old Primer, 

“In Adam’s fall, 

We sinned all,” 


the doctor had not found a word of fault. But now, to 
Joanna’s surprise, he said to her one day, 

“ Joanna, girls will take almost any kind of religious 
instruction, and get good out of it, because their natures 
are religious. It isn’t so with boys. If you are not very 
careful, they will take dislikes and prejudices, and so get 
more harm than good. If I were you, I wouldn’t teach 
Milton the Westminster catechism quite yet, not— quite 
— yet. Tell him about Christ, and the good women and 
the good men who lived about him and loved him. Feed 
him with milk first; boys don’t take to strong meat in 
religious things so quick as girls do.” 

Now, Joanna, with all her faith in her brother, knew 
that he was not a professed Christian; that he had stronger 
dislikes among the clergy than among any other class, 
though there were, here and there, ministers whom he 
thoroughly esteemed; that, generally, he was broader and 
more latitudinarian in his views than she would have 
desired. Therefore, there was a conflict in her mind 
whether or not it w^as quite safe in this matter to follow 
his advice. After much study and prayer, she finally 


328 


A woman’s secret. 


compromised the matter. She did not teach him the 
Westminster catechism, seeing that at six years old he 
could hardly be expected fully to understand all its pro- 
found meanings. She did teach him about Christ, took 
great pains to impress his youthful imagination with the 
stories of the Shepherds, and the Wise Men, and the Babe 
lying in a manger ; and then she gave him, besides, a 
simple, clear outline of Christ’s mission and agency in the 
plan of salvation, to which the doctor did not object. 

“I know how strictly Milton was brought up,” said 
Joanna, “and it did not make a Christian of him, at least, 
not outwardly; though I trust God, who sees the heart, 
does not always follow our blind judgment. Let us be so 
tender with this young soul, that Christianity, at least, 
shall not wear a forbidding aspect to him.” 

It comforted Joanna a good deal to know that Mr. Evans, 
her own minister, and a man full of Christian love and 
zeal, quite approved her course; but Mr. Linscott, who, 
being a good deal in Wyndham this summer, took great 
interest in Miss Joanna’s plans, heartily demurred. 

One warm August afternoon, Mr. Linscott had been 
drinking tea with Miss Joanna, and this very subject of 
Milton’s religious training had been under discussion. 
After tea they all went into the neat, old-fashioned parlor, 
with its furniture of mahogany and haircloth, studded 
with brass nails, and its portraits in oil looking down from 
the walls. It was rather a solemn room to Milton, Jr., 
and when he was called into it, to see Mr. Linscott and be 
talked to about religion, the mercury in his thermometer 
sank quite into his boot heels. But the doctor, noticing 
the fall of his countenance, took his hand gravely and 
said to him: 

“Milton, my boy, never be afraid of anybody. Know 
yourself, that is all.” 

So encouraged and led in by the doctor, Milton took 


A woman’s secret. 


829 


heart of grace, and stood before Mr. Linscott with an 
open brow and a confident eye. 

Miss Joanna, in her pretty white jaconet, and old fash- 
ioned jewelry of jet and pearl, and the dainty rose blooming 
on her cheek, and motherly trembling and solicitude in 
her eye, was far more nervous than he appeared ; while the 
doctor, in his great arm-chair by the window, looked grave, 
and hid a twinkle in his eye by downcast lids. 

“Milton,” said Mr. Linscott, “let me hear you say your 
Primer verses.” 

“ The boy commenced with “Adam’s Fall,” and went 
straight on, through the whole alphabetical line, without 
blunder or hesitation. His courage rose, as he neared the 
close of his task, and seeing Miss Joanna’s happy eye, and 
Mr. Linscott’s look of grave approval, he wound up with 
a great flourish, and uplifted voice : 

“ Zaccheus he 
Did climb a tree. 

His Lord to see; 

The limh did break, and he did fall. 

And he didn’t see his Lord at all” 

“ Oh ! Milton, how could you ?” exclaimed Miss Joanna. 

“ The doctor said so,” said Milton, stoutly, with a look 
which plainly indicated his firm faith in the historical 
verity of the statement. 

“But, then, it isnotin the book, you know, Milton.” 

Mr. Linscott looked very grave, but finally coughed, and 
passed on to the next exercise. 

“ Who made you, child ? ” he asked, solemnly. 

“ God,” the boy replied, in a reverent tone. 

“ What is God ? I suppose you know your catechism ? ” 

“Ho, sir,” said Milton. 

“ I am sorry for that,” said Mr. Linscott; “I hold that 
children cannot too early be taught the great foundations 
of our holy belief. When my little Minnie was three years 
02 


330 


A avoman's secret. 


old, slie could recite it perfectly. I sliall tell you wbat 
God is, and I hope you will try to remember. In the 
language of the Westminster catechism: ‘ God is a spirit, 
infinite, eternal, and unchangeable in His being, wisdom, 
power, holiness, justice, goodness and truth.’ Now, my 
son, can you remember that?” 

After a few trials, Milton was able to repeat it correctly. 

“There, Milton,” said Mr. Linscott, with satisfaction, 
“ if you don’t learn anything more than that to-day, you 
will, nevertheless, have cause to bless the day as long as 
you live.” 

“Milton,” said the doctor, “what is a spirit?” 

“New England rum,” answered Milton, promptly. 

“ Oh !” said Mr. Linscott, much shocked, “that is a very 
serious error?” 

“ Guess not,” said Milton; “the doctor always calls it 
spirit ; and when Tom Barker got drunk, and fell ofi* a load 
of hay, and broke his neck. Miss Joanna took me to the 
funeral, and the minister said the Lord came to Tom in 
that black bottle ; and that bottle had rum in it, I Jcnow.^'* 

Mr. Linscott spent a quarter of an hour, striving to 
enlighten the child’s mind concerning the difierence be- 
tween matter and spirit; not, however, with the most 
satisfactory success ; seeing that the language of theolo- 
gians is usually, for some occult reason, very widely different 
from the simple phraseology in which their Master taught 
the multitudes ; which is, perhaps, one great reason why 
the “carnal heart” is so averse to their teachings. 

Miss Joanna was the more pained at this want of spiritual 
perception in Milton, because she had taken him to that 
funeral, in opposition to the doctor’s ideas, for the express 
purpose of impressing his young mind with a terror of the 
judgments of God. Of course, if the doctor had not 
viewed the result with a twinkle of secret satisfaction, he 
would have been more or less than human. 


A woman’s secret. 


331 


But the religious examination went on. 

“Milton,” said Mr. Linscott, “when I say that God is 
an all-powerful Being, what do I mean ?” 

“ That He can do anything He pleases.” 

“Yes; in the days of Joshua, He commanded the sun 
and moon to stand still, and they obeyed Him. Do you 
suppose God could put the meeting-house into your pocket, 
if He chose?” 

“Ho, sir,” said Milton. 

“Why not, Milton? If He could part the Red Sea, so 
that the Israelites could walk over on dry land, and make 
even the sun and moon stand still in the heavens, why 
couldn’t He put the meeting-house into yom* pocket ? ” 

“ ’Cause I hav’n’t got any,” said Milton. 

“ Oh ! ” said Mr. Linscott, taken a little aback. 

“Milton,” said the doctor, with deep interest, “ hav’n’t 
you.got any pocket?” 

Miss Joanna hastened to explain. 

“When he came here,” she said, “his clothes had 
pockets in them; and he kept them so full of every thing ^ 
knives, and keys, and strings, and apples, and doughnuts, 
and sticks, and old stockings to make balls of, and they 
tore out so, that when I made his new clothes I did not 
put in any pockets.” 

“ That will never do,” said the doctor ; boys must have 
pockets. You may teach them the Westminster catechism 
or not, as you like ; but you must give them pockets. It 
hurts a boy’s self-respect not to have a pocket; I should 
expect a boy to grow up a liar and a thief, if he didn’t 
have one. Milton must have a pocket.” 

Miss Joanna sighed, but promised obedience. 

Mr. Linscott indulged in a few deeply theological exhor- 
tations, and then rose to go. 

“ He didn’t ask me,” said Milton, regretfully, as the door 
closed after him, “about the baby Jesus that lay in the 


332 


A woman’s secret. 


manger, nor the Shepherds, nor the Wise Men, nor none 
of those things that I could have said better.” 

Miss Joanna, herself not a little heart-sore, took him in 
her arms, and comforted him, and showed him the evening 
star, and the beautiful golden sky of the sunset, and told 
him about the 'New Jerusalem, with the river flowing 
through it, and the trees growing on its banks ; and then 
she undressed him, and heard him say his evening prayers, 
and sat by his side till he went to sleep, watching for the 
moon to rise. 

Then she went to her own room; not to wrestle with an 
old, dead grief, that would steep her eyes in tears till 
midnight; but to thank God for this fresh young life, 
which did so draw hers out into the sunlight, and to ask 
Him for grace and guidance, to meet all the exigencies of 
its growth and demands; and then to sleep — sweet, calm, 
refreshing sleep. 


A woman’s secret. 


333 


XXXII. 

ROSE COLOR. 

In those days the lives of Rebecca and her lover flowed 
on to a golden tune. This new love was a broader and 
sweeter experience than either of them had ever known 
before. It renewed the cool fresh spring-time of their 
lives, and they became young again with the immortal 
youthfulness of love. 

Mr. Gladstone was passionately fond of a fine horse. 
Rebecca rode well, also, and often, in the cool, dewy 
evenings of the early autumn, they mounted their horses 
and rode out of the town through the deep woods where 
the late sunshine broke through golden-tinted foliage, and 
the air was sweet with the breath of the pines, and the 
silence was stirred by the chatter of squirrels and the drop- 
ping of nuts. On again, over the smooth, open hills, with 
God’s beautiful world lying wide and varied at their feet; 
winding streams and glint of ponds, and stretch of meadow 
and fringe of woodland, with the soft autumn haze over 
all, and the pearly rim of the horizon enclosing all. And 
then the stars came out and the dew glistened on the 
leaves by the roadside, and the dusk fell through the 
great, wide spaces, and the darkness separated these two 
trembling hearts from all the world beside. Or, there 
were evening loiterings through the ]3ine woods, or along 
the silver stream-side, or bits of quiet chat under the trees 
on the lawn, or in the arbor which stood at the foot of the 
garden walk; all fragments of celestial light and beauty to 
be hidden away in their hearts ; secretly treasured, like 
pearls in a mine, fit to light up hereafter all dull and dark 
experiences. This chat of lovers, so unspeakably tender 


334 


A woman’s secret. 


and precious to themselves, so commonplace to all the 
world beside; these delicate revealings of the heart, so 
momentous to each other, so little significant outside that 
range of intimate interests which they are building up, a 
temple for their souls alone to abide in for a lifetime, who 
shall transcribe it. The bloom on the plum, the spray from 
the waterfall, the changing form of sunset clouds, are not 
more exquisite or more intangible. 

Rebecca sat in the library one evening, when Mr. Glad- 
stone was announced. Her dress, some silvery poplin, 
shot with azure hues, with a delicate lace collar pinned 
with a cross of pearls — her lover’s gift — had been 
arranged purposely to please his eye; for Mr. Gladstone 
was fastidious, she had learned, and she took a womanly 
pleasure in giving him the simple, yet ever new delight of 
a fresh toilet. Reclining in an easy library chair, with 
the late sunshine resting goldenly upon her hair, and a 
book of poems in her hand, her delicate white hand on 
which his ring glistened, Mr. Gladstone felt, as he looked 
at her, a sweetness in the sense of ownership which he 
had scarcely ever felt before. 

“So exquisite, and — mine,” was his secret thought. 

“Don’t rise, Reba,” he said, “you look so sweetly now, 
just as you sit there, that I would not have you lose the 
position for the world.” 

She looked up and smiled at his fond, foolish fancy, 
y “May I offer you this unoccupied hand?” she said, “ or 
will that, too, spoil your picture?” 

“No,” he said, “I shall take the hand,” and he drew 
his chair beside her, so as to sit very near, but facing her; 
“that is just what is needed to the best effect. How is 
my little friend this evening?” 

“Very well, very happy,” she replied. “It sometimes 
seems, too happy.” 

“No, dear, God meant that people in love should be 


A woman’s secret. 


335 


happy. Of all his earthly gifts, he has put his seal most 
plainly and indisputably on this one of love.” 

“As if he had made a rift in Heaven’s walls, and let a 
slant beam of the glory down through. Having drawn 
our eyes upward, will he not by and by close up the seam 
and leave us to our darkness again?” 

There was a look of trouble in her soft, child-like eyes, 
and Mr. Gladstone became instantly all tender eagerness 
to allay it. 

“What saddens you to-night, my friend?” he said. 
“Tell me all about it, and you will feel better.” 

She smiled. “Old memories, I think,” she said. 
“ Something in these poems I have been reading, made 
me think of my mother as I dimly remember her. She 
was a Quakeress of wealthy family, but marrying out of 
the society — my father was a Presbyterian clergyman — 
she was estranged from all her friends. Three years after 
her marriage, she moved away from their vicinity, and 
from that time until the day she died — it was-when I was 
live years old — she never heard from them, except casually 
in an indirect way. This was the sadness of her life; the 
brightness of it, was the tender, mutual love which made 
her and her husband the most quietly and deeply happy 
people £ ever knew. But when she died it was all 
changed. An aunt of my father, a middle-aged and most 
austere woman, came to live with us, and all my memories 
from that time till I was twenty, are chilled and saddened 
by the asperity of that woman’s life. My father, indeed, 
loved me tenderly and kept me much with him. He 
educated me; I had learned to read Latin and Greek, and 
even listened intelligently to his reading of the Psalms in 
Hebrew. I remember so well the deep melody and 
beauty of the twenty-third psalm, as I caught from him 
its under deeps of meaning. ‘He leadeth me in green 
pastures and beside waters of stillness,’ always gave me, 


336 


A woman’s secret. 


in the quaint Hebrew words, a sense of repose, and deep 
peacefulness, that I never caught from any translation. 
He taught me reverence for my mother, for her gentleness, 
her dignity, her tender, gracious womanliness, building 
up my very soul after that saintly model, and showing 
me, in a way that I could never forget, all that it is to be 
a true woman, tender wife, and angel mother. When I 
was sixteen, he died. It seemed then that all the light 
and beauty of my life had gone out forever. Four years 
more I lived with that sour, stern woman; all that was 
tenderest and most refined in me chilled, bruised, lacer- 
ated daily by her native angularities and her habitual 
acerbity. I think she meant well. I think life wore to 
her just that chill, forbidding, aspect; and souls that found 
in it flowers and sunshine, brightness and beauty, seemed 
to her to be sporting upon the brink of precipices, with 
fiery billows rolling beneath them. To my life with my 
parents, I look back with unutterable tenderness; all that 
came after — is bitter — bitter beyond telling.” 

“Then, dear, don’t recall it. Don’t dash with salt 
and brackishness the pure cup of the present happy 
time. You looked so sweet and tranquil when I came in, I 
cannot bear these tears and this look of pain upon your 
face.” 

“But, my friend, I wake up in the nights and feel guilty 
toward you ; and yet, when the day comes, I can never, 
never tell you.” 

“ Yes, dear, that is just it. It is in the night-time that 
you feel guilty, not in the pure, open day. It is a morbid 
feeling — about something which, when years of married 
happiness have tuned our lives to perfect unison, you will 
tell, and I shall hear, with a feeling as if it belonged to 
some far-away time and some far-away woman, and it 
will cause no pain to either ; but which now would be a 
poignant grief to you, and, therefore, a profound grief to 


A woman’s secret. 


337 


me. Long ago you satisfied my heart in the matter. Let 
us say, let us think no more about it.” 

What is that strange power, is it fate, is it God, which 
so often impels us to do the very thing it would seem we 
ought not to do, and that against our own desires and 
inclinations? If there was one thing which, at some 
moments of his life, Abraham Gladstone desired to know 
more than all others, it was just this thing which he was 
now burying from his knowledge. Something within him 
told him this was best, and therefore he did it; and so 
doing, insured, let us believe, his after reward. 

So cheered and encouraged, Reba forgot her pain. 

“I have been preparing a little surprise for you. You 
never heard me sing, I think.” 

“Do you sing? I’m delighted. Let me have a taste 
of your powers at once.” 

“I hadnotsung for many years,” she said, “ and fancied 
I had lost my voice altogether; but recently I have been so 
happy that the old songs come back to me, and actually 
plead for utterance.” 

She led the way into the parlor where the piano stood, 
and sitting down played a soft prelude, and then, while 
he was still wondering at the delicacy of her touch, 
commenced the sweet and tender strains of an old 
ballad. Her voice did not seem to him wonderful for 
power or brilliancy, but possessed a rare and deej) 
pathos, and a truth and beauty of expression which 
mere cultivation never bestows. Mr. Gladstone was 
charmed. 

“Why did you never tell me this before?” he asked. 
“Why has your talent been left to slumber all these 
years ? ” 

“Oh! the reason is part of the sad past,” she said. 
“ When all the bloom and sunshine were stricken out of 
my life so suddenly, many gifts and graces were buried, 
P 


338 


A woman’s secret. 


which will find resurrection in the light of your love. 
Music in those early days was my one delight.” 

“And it is a delight which you shall enjoy once more to 
the full. My mother’s piano has stood unopened since her 
death. Some happy day, please God, you shall possess 
the key of it, and bid its harmonies flow again. Oh ! 
Reba, I get very impatient for that time.” 

They lingered over the piano, song following song, till 
the light faded and a moonbeam struck its white and 
ghostly silence across the instrument. Then her hands 
dropped upon the keys, and their talk wandered off to 
other themes. 

“How I shall miss you this coming winter,” he said. 
“Sometimes, as I think of it, I am half determined to carry 
you off by storm, and make you share my exile.” 

“And you really expect to go to Washington ? I have 
hardly spirit to congratulate you.” 

“Yes; the nomination, in the present state of party 
affairs, is equivalent to an election. I am getting my 
business into proper shape to leave ; and, no doubt, the 
first of December will find me en route for the capital.” 

“She was silent, pouting in a pretty way that always 
pleased him, and running her fingers absently over the 
keys. 

“You begin to gi*ow distrustful of me,” he said. “I 
see it in your face. Shall I take a vow to remain faithful 
to you amid divers and many temptations?” 

“Ho,” she replied; “the more men multiply vows, the 
more I believe they delight in breaking them. But, dear 
friend, with so many excitements, so much all about you 
to dazzle and bewilder, will your heart still remain true 
and steady to its one love? Oh! it is so very, very hard 
for me to trust.” 

“Dear, you may confide in me to the uttermost. Since 
I have seen my way clear to marry, I have ever had but 


A woman’s secret. 


339 


one desire. Not fortune, nor beauty, nor wit, nor virtue, 
nor all these combined, could tempt me for an instant, if 
love were wanting. I am more exacting than you can 
fancy on this score. And if I marry for love, you are 
to remember I will have love. There must be no after 
discoveries of hardness of heart or blindness of mind; no 
frauds on the revenue.” 

She smiled at his eagerness. “If you can remember,” 
she said, “ that a woman, too, has her requirements, not 
exactly like those of a man, but equally exigent, and be as 
willing to yield as you are to exact, there need be no 
trouble.” 

“Reba, I want you, need you, every minute of my 
life. Let us be married at once. I cannot leave you 
behind.” 

“Now you are rash. We have both need of patience ; 
if you can come back to me from this six months’ absence, 
still true, still infatuated,” she said, looking up into his 
face with a smile, “I shall have a deeper trust in you than 
is possible to me now. For this, if for no other reason, I 
would bar you from any precipitancy.” 

“ I suppose you are right ; but, oh ! my darling, the 
excitements you talk about will seem very tame after 
these hours at your side.” 

They stepped out under the vines, and the stars, shining 
down through the whispering foliage, witnessed their 
vows of mutual fidelity and love. The hours wore on, the 
air grew soft with dews, the night birds called from lonely 
forest depths, and the breeze that whispered love to the 
flowers outside brushed the soft tresses of her hair against 
his cheek; but all the weird enchantments of the night 
were as nothing to the magic which lay in their hearts; 
and which wove out of the commonplace facts of their 
future, visions of fairy splendor. 

“ You have never been to the old home,” he said. “Now, 


340 


A WOMAN'S SECRET. 


remember, before I go away you are to drive out there 
some evening with me. I want so much to show it to you 
and to co-nsult youi* taste about tlie refitting. W e shall 
not commence it, to be sure, till spring; but you can be 
thinking of it meanwhile.” 

“I should like to go,” she said; “it would be pleasant to 
wander with you over the scenes of your boyhood. I 
should seem to know you so much better for knowing 
your home. And that, it seems to me, just now, is about 
all I have to live for; to know you deeply and well, and 
to grow able to please you, and make your happiness.” 

“That is an odd speech,” he said, quizzically, “to come 
from a strong-minded woman like you.” 

“It is a great wonder to me,” she replied, “that you dare 
to take for better, for worse, a woman who cherishes the 
strange notions which you have so often heard me avow.” 

“ The truth is, Rebecca, that I am less afraid of a 
woman who cherishes a high ideal of female attainments, 
than of one whose standard is set too low. I think you 
will be more likely to fill your life and mine with inspira- 
tions of courage, tenderness and truth, than if your ideal 
were a less noble one.” 

“Which may be, after all,” she said with a smile of 
confidence and love, “only your way of subduing me ; since 
a woman is ever as pliant as a reed in the hands of the 
man who fully trusts her, and whom she can fully trust.” 

He bade her good night then, and walked away, feeling 
more than he had expressed of the nobility and beauty of 
the woman whom he had left looking longingly after him, 
through the dusk. Love has an instinctive comprehension 
of this matter of the equality of the sexes. Ho man in the 
fervor of a love dream ever felt or asserted any kind of 
superiority over the woman he loved, except a purely 
material one ; or ever refused to her, her rightful due of 
spiritual queen ship. 


A WOMAN‘S SECRET. 


341 


XXXIIL 

THE EIGHT OF A MAN TO WHIP HIS WIFE. 

All through the Fall, Mr. Gladstone was very much 
occupied Avith preparations for his winter’s absence. 
Beside that political atfairs required a great proportion 
of his time, there was much to do to put his personal 
business in a condition to leave. But, while Rebecca, for 
this cause, found herself deprived in a great measure of 
her lover’s society, she was never allowed to feel herself 
for a moment neglected. A note of five lines at one time, 
a basket of fruit at another, or even a flower left on her 
desk at the oflice, reminded her pleasantly, that, though 
the head and hands were engrossed with cares, the heart 
still, through it all, preserved a tender thought for her. 
Thus, instead of his business working estrangement 
between them, it became actually the means of knitting 
their hearts in closer bonds; for, though these little 
oflices, in a purely practical view, seemed trifling and 
insignificant, they were tenderer proofs than the most 
uninterrupted devotion during hours of leisure, of the 
fidelity of his attachment. Because of the fineness of a 
woman’s nature, these delicacies and refinements of love 
are vital to her; and many a woman has perished — gone 
down to an untimely grave, for the want of them. Many 
another has drooped all her lifetime, like a blighted bud 
upon its stem, folding from bleak and chilling skies or 
withering winds of sensualism, her tenderest graces in 
perpetual concealment ; who, to sunny warmth, and free 
caressing breezes, would have yielded, how joyfully, her 
innermost charm. 

Mr. Gladstone was one of the few men who instinctively 


342 


A woman’s secret. 


appreciate these things, and there was no danger of Reba 
suffering from neglect. But it happened in this wise, that 
the visit which he had planned to the old mansion, was 
postponed to the last week before his dej^arture. 

One evening, late in November, however, he drove to 
the door, to fulfill that long delayed intention. Rebecca 
soon made her appearance, looking, in her bright Fall out- 
door suit, so cheerful and sparkling, that Mr. Gladstone’s 
eye lingered upon her face with a warmth that was a caress 
in itself. 

“ Every time I see you,” he said, “ I feel less inclined 
for this long absence from you. Reba, if anything should 
happen to either of us, during our separation — ” 

“Now, my friend,” she interrupted him, “do not croak. 
I feel so joyful to-day, so trustful of the future, that I 
would not, by any means, have you disturb my perfect 
serenity. The birds sing, taking no thought for the 
morrow. Why should not we?” 

Mr. Gladstone gladly acquiesced. “In truth,” he said, 
“I feel lighter hearted to-day than I have for many weeks. 
All my preparations for leaving are made ; there is nothing 
left now to do, but to lay ever so many injunctions upon 
you, concerning your future peace, and mine ; and that I 
propose to do at my leisure, during this long visit which 
we are to enjoy together.” 

She smiled in reply, and they stepped out to the carriage. 

When Rebecca was seated, Mr. Gladstone proceeded to 
release his horse from the hitching-post. It was a favorite 
animal, of fine blood, which he had broken himself, and 
named Queen Mary, after the Scottish heroine. 

“Look at her, Reba,” he said ; “ isn’t she a beauty, and 
doesn’t she know her master ? See how proudly she arches 
her neck! See how fondly she turns her eye upon me! 
I broke her after the Rarey method. She has never felt 
the lash upon her pretty hide; she has never heard an 


A WOMAN S SECRKT. 


348 


angry tone in her master’s voice, and she loves me almost 
like a human thing.” 

At this, the high-bred, delicate creature, laid her nose 
upon his shoulder, and, as if to confirm his words, gave a 
soft whinny of delight. 

He looked up at Rebecca, and she was smiling mischiev- 
ously at him, 

“ It is my equine enthusiasm,” he said, “ which amuses 
you ? ” 

“Not at all,” she replied. “I was only thinking what a 
curious reflection upon human nature it is, that the most 
distinct echo in our times, of the Great Apostle’s doctrine 
concerning love as the foundation of all real subjugation, 
should illustrate the truth by an appeal to — horses.” 

Mr. Gladstone was silent for a moment, as if deliberately 
viewing the matter in this new light. At last he said : 

“ I am not a theologian, but if I were, I think I should 
resent that speech as an imputation upon the Church.” 

“ The policy of the Church, toward heretics, for more 
than a thousand years,” said Rebecca, “ was to slay, burn, 
exterminate. Later, the church militant contents herself 
with denunciation and threatenings. The Quakers, to be 
sure, asserted the principle, two or three centuries ago, but 
they could not live by it, and are slowly dying out. In 
this generation, Mr. Rarey stands the sole and single 
reviver of the neglected truth, that pure, unvarying kind- 
ness is the higher law of subjugation.” 

“ But, Reba, Mr. Rarey’ s method includes positive force.” 

“Yes, but it must be administered without harshness.” 

“ The truth is, there are very few men who can practice 
the Rarey method, because so few are capable of the 
necessary self-control. That is the man’s great miracle, 
after all.” 

“Yet, judging from his slight physique, and delicate, 
almost feminine organization, the power is not that of 


344 


A woman’s secret. 


physical force, or of the will, but rather of a spirit so 
large, so loving, so tender, for the dear object of his 
enthusiasm, that, however the noble brute may rebel, it 
causes him no anger, but only pity. It is love, after all, 
which is the overmastering power, enabling him to con- 
quer, first himself, and then his horse.” 

“I begin to suspect, my little friend,” said Mr. Glad- 
stone, dryly, “that you have a private interest in this 
discussion. But you must remember that the right of a 
man to whip his wife is very ancient, and one which no man 
will be in haste to renounce.” 

Reba laughed. “ But it seems,” she said, “ that you have 
already renounced the right to whip your horse. Let us 
be thankful for that. It is a step in the right direction.” 

“ Ah ! but Queen is very submissive without the whip.” 

“Less fractious by nature than most women, you 
probably believe.” 

“No; she is a liery, mettlesome thing, else I should not 
like her so well. But she yields all her superior strength, 
and mettle, and fire, to my service for the pure sake of 
love, and a little gentle coercion which I practiced upon 
her in the early days of our acquaintance. You must not 
ask me to forget that fact, Reba.” 

“Since you insist on making the application, I will 
confess that I do not care that you should forget it. It is 
undoubtedly the duty of woman, as it is her nature, to 
yield implicit trust; but it is equally the man’s duty, and 
as he becomes more enlightened he will see that it is also 
for his best interest, never to betray that trnsV"* 

“Oh! since you yield without coercion, you spare me 
the need of the whip; but what has become of your 
strong-mindedness ?” 

“Let us be serious,” she said. “A man is certainly the 
responsible head and representative of the family, and 
may, therefore, for all purposes of mutual use and benefit, 


A woman’s secret. 


346 


require obedience. If there were still any doubt, nature 
has settled it emphatically by giving to him a prepon- 
derance of will power. It is absurd to suppose that the 
weaker can or was intended to command the stronger. 
Yet, I cannot but feel that there is a kind of submission 
which is not incompatible with the highest freedom. As 
the citizen is subject to the law, and yet is only truly free 
under the law; so I think a woman may, during a whole 
life-time, yield a true and just obedience to her husband, 
and yet never feel her rights invaded, nor her conscience 
profaned. But, then, the man must be a man, and not a 
tyrant ; not even addicted to that inherent vice of weak 
and narrow minds — the inclination to exact ail possible 
rights, without yielding the corresponding duties.” 

“Reba, have you any fear that your rights will ever be 
invaded, or your conscience profaned?” 

“No,” she said. “I trust you perfectly. Yet, I think 
you must see for yourself, that many women do so suffer.” 

“But that is the fault of the individual and not of the 
institution. In this, more than in any other way, it seems 
to me that I can trace the Divine agency in the ordering 
of the world’s affairs. The primitive institutions of the 
race are all good and true. The Family, the State, the 
Church, who but God could have ordained them? The 
reforms which are needed must be directed toward the 
heart of man, to bring it up to the level of those grand 
ideas which have their source in the bosom of God. They 
were fitted to man in the infancy of the race, and he may 
progress for ages and never outgrow them ; though, age 
by age, his vision grows clearer and his heart purer, to 
appreciate them.” 

They had left the town behind them, and were driving 
through open fields. The landscape drawn in the soft 
tints of the Indian summer, and vailed by its delicate 
haze, was one to charm the eye and touch the heart. The 


346 


A woman’s secret. 


pastures were sere and yellow, but along the old gi’^y 
walls the golden asters still faintly nodded* 'fhe trees 
bore only a scant and flutteriiig foliage, which yet 
displayed soiiie trace of the October splendor; the 
brooks, threading the fresher meadows, reflected the pale 
azure and paler gold of the tender sky, softened from its 
summer brilliancy, to an aspect, moi'e accordant with the 
waning fortunes of the year. Already the wide-spread 
acres of the Gladstone estate were in view. Already the 
great square chimneys of the old house rose in sight 
among the trees. 

“Reba,” said Mr. Gladstone, “you cannot imagine the 
pride and joy of my heart, as 1 look on these dear old 
acres and think that they are safe again in my possession. 
If I had never been so near losing them, I should never 
have known how much I loved them.” 

“Your fortune has been very singular in that respect, I 
think,” said Rebecca. “I never quite understood how so 
strange a combination of circumstances took its rise.” 

“It is a long story to tell,” said Mr. Gladstone. “In 
fact, I am still a little puzzled about it myself. At times 
I have had my suspicions that there must have been some 
unfair influence brought to bear upon my father ; or, worse, 
some tampering with his actual intentions. But I have no 
proof of anything of that kind, which would avail me 
in a legal way; therefore, I content myself with letting 
the matter rest. The trial has been a severe one; but, 
now that it is over, I would not have escaped it. Life, and 
all that it holds for me, are ten times dearer than they 
could have been if I had not so struggled for my hold 
upon them. I, myself, am the stronger, better, purer man 
for the hard work which this experience has entailed upon 
me. If my brother Dick ever wronged me, I freely forgive 
him; if not for his own sake, yet for the sake of this 
indirect good which I have gained, and for that deeper 


A woman’s secret. 


347 


interest, our common mother. By the way,” he said, “ I 
had a letter from him the other day, and he is coming 
home soon.” 

“It is a long time since you have seen him, is it not?” 
said Rebecca, in an absent, meditative way; less interested 
in what she was saying than in her under thought of the 
grandness and purity of this man’s life, and the pride she 
had in it already as a part of her own. 

“Yes, he has not been in Wyndhara for eight years, 
although it is only about five years since he went to South 
America. I fancy, from his letter, that he has not been so 
successful as he expected to be, and intends to return to 
his old home to settle for life. Well, we will give him a 
welcome; and so long as he shows a man’s front to the 
world, he will have a man’s place in it, whether he be rich 
or poor. A fine-looking man, is Dick.” 

“Does he look like you ?” 

“Not at all. I am fair, but he is dark, with a natural 
polish and princeliness of bearing which I should never 
acquire. But he has, or used to have, a bad heart, Reba. 
I cannot promise that you will like him for a brother.” 

“ When will he arrive ? ” asked Reba. 

“It is not quite certain. He may be here by Christmas. 
He speaks of renewing the old festivities in that case. 
Of course he does not know that I shall not be here then ; 
or he may not come till spring. I should judge, by what 
he says, that he will not delay longer than that.” 

They had reached the gate, where the farmer stood 
ready to admit them, having already opened the house 
and left his wife in charge of it, till the arrival of its 
owner. As they drove up the wide, handsome avenue, 
Mr. Gladstone took great pleasure in directing Rebecca’s 
attention to his favorite points in the ground, and dis- 
cussing with her the improvements which he already 
contemplated. 


848 


A woman’s secret. 


“It will be some years yet before I can carry my plans 
into execution; for, besides the farm, I have nothing to 
depend upon but my own exertions, which makes me, as 
compared with my father, a poor man ; but, with industry 
and good management, the day will come when I can 
realize all these dreams, and leave the old place, when I 
die, in better order than I found it.” 

The house itself had, of course, the dreary look which 
an uninhabited building is sure to gather. There were 
the inevitable dust and cobwebs, the darkness and the 
smell of damp and mould; but, as the shutters were taken 
down, revealing the handsome walls, and wide, fine 
wdndows, and heavy, antique furniture of the rooms, 
Rebecca felt that only sunshine and good cheer were 
needed to make it, not only a spacious and elegant, but a 
cosey and comfortable home. 

They wandered about the house for an hour, Mr. Glad- 
stone eloquent all the while with old memories. This was 
his mother’s favorite rocking-chair; these her best loved 
books. In this room his father died. This other had 
been his own room since he could remember, and this his 
brother Dick’s. Dick was such a handsome fellow, so 
grand in his manners, courteous to his equals, but haughty 
and domineering toward his inferiors. Men, unless they 
were quite of his own stamp, seldom liked him; but the 
women adored him. 

“I suppose,” he said, half joking, half in earnest, “there 
is no end to the hearts he has broken.” 

And so he went on, with the abandon of a generous 
heart, calling up old and tender associations. 

Stopping for a moment in a chamber, Mr. Gladstone 
said: 

“Wait for a moment, Reba, while I look in this trunk 
for my opera glass. It has been packed away since I left 
the small house, and I may want it this winter.” 


A woman’s secret. 


849 


He knelt, and selecting a key from the bunch he carried, 
unlocked the trunk and commenced removing its contents. 

The first thing brought to view was a blue silk dress. 
He grew grave, and was about to lay it silently aside, 
when, from some awkwardness of handling, the folds fell 
apart, and discovered great yellow stains of dampness. 

“This isn’t keeping well, is it?” he said. “Perhaps Fd 
better shake it out, and hang it in a closet.” 

As he did so, the ruin of it became more evident. The 
beautiful luster of the silk was faded. There was not a 
breadth of it that was not discolored and moulded, and 
the lace flounce, the one pride and treasure of Melissa’s 
heart, was eaten to holes by the mice. It was a sad 
reminiscence, and the pathos of it was all the deeper, 
because it was so true a token of poor Melissa’s life and 
memory. 

There was not a word spoken as the ruined, faded thing 
was hung away; but a chill pervaded Mr. Gladstone’s 
heart, which only a glance into Rebecca’s pure, love- 
lighted face could wholly dispel. 

The opera glass being found, they retraced their steps 
to the drawing-room. 

“I am going to leave you here for a few moments, 
Reba,” said Mr. Gladstone, “while I go up stairs to look 
for some old letters which are stowed away there. I shall 
only be gone a short time, and then we will set out for 
home. The moon is coming up gloriously, and we shall 
have a fine drive.” 

Rebecca, left alone, seated herself in a great reception 
chair, and commenced, in an idle way, studying the furni- 
ture of the room. It was quaint and old fashioned, but 
still handsome. What most attracted her, were the por- 
traits upon the walls, done in oil, and with very creditable 
artistic skill. The one opposite the bay window, she 
knew in a moment was that of Mr. Gladstone’s mother. 


350 


A woman’s secret. 


It was a face of rare delicacy, yet not wanting in strength; 
the contour high and open, the features regular; the hair, 
which was dark and softly waving, and the exquisite skin, 
expressing, more than anything else, the fineness of the 
organization. The expression was of perfect gentleness, 
touched with a sadness so tender and patient, that the 
heart of the beholder thrilled with an instinctive sympathy 
and reverence. 

“Ah!” was Reba’s thought, her eyes filling with tears, 
“she would have understood me, would have forgiven 
me, would have loved me;” and as she looked longer, it 
seemed to her that from the very canvas floated down a 
blessing and a caress. 

The portrait of Mr. Gladstone the elder, hung there 
also ; the face of a generous, open-hearted, yet upright 
man. 

“Just the face I should have looked to see, from all I 
have heard of him,” she thought; “tender, large-hearted, 
strictly conscientious. How could it have happened that 
he should have made so unjust a disposition of his prop- 
erty? I do not wonder that the feeling is so strong in the 
community against the half-brother. There must have 
been some undue influence used, which it is very noble 
of Mr. Gladstone to forgive so freely.” 

There was simply a head of Abraham in his teens; 
a bold, free, spirited drawing, which amused while it 
delighted her. It seemed so strange to see the boyish 
look on those grave, settled features which she knew so 
well. After a short inspection of it, she returned to her 
seat; and returned, also, to her idle examination of the 
details of the room. Presently, in one corner, upon the 
floor, she espied another painting, the face turned toward 
the wall; but on the canvas she read, “A portrait of K 
P. Clavering,” with the date and the artist’s initials. At 
the sight of that name, the color forsook her cheek and 


A woman’s secret. 


351 


lip, and an uncontrollable emotion seized her. She sat for 
a moment powerless, the description which Mr. Gladstone 
had that hour given her of his brother flashing across her 
brain. The next moment there came a revulsion of 
feeling. It was no time now, she felt, for shrinking or 
uncertainty. Cost what it would, she must go forward 
and look at that hidden face. She rose and walked across 
the room, and bringing the picture out into a strong light, 
turned it toward her. 

It was as if one had risen from the dead, to confront her 
with the memory of the bitter past. 

The sun was just setting, and a flood of light poured in 
at a western window. Selecting a good position for the 
portrait, she placed it there, and then sat down upon the 
floor before it. She was lost utterly to the present. She 
was living over again, in her memory, the unspeakable 
agony of the past. The face she looked upon was younger 
than she had known it. There was a fresher glow upon 
it; a nobler enthusiasm ; but the dark eyes glowed with 
the same deep fires; the strong lip swelled with the same 
firm purpose ; the luxuriant hair curled with a foreshadow 
ing of the same rich grace ; there was, over all, the same 
expression of princely will, and power to do, without 
endeavor. 

She sat there till the sun went down, and the shadows 
deepened around her ; her eyes still fixed upon that hand- 
some, fascinating face, something of the old magnetism 
drawing her out of herself, toward the scenes which they 
two had loitered through together. She knew, now, how 
heartless he was; how hollow his vows had been! there 
was no loving — only loathing in her heart for him; but 
the power he had wielded over her fate and fortunes, ah! 
she could not forget that. 

Suddenly, the shutting of a door, in a distant part of the 
house, recalled her to herself, and to the present time and 


352 


A woman’s secret. 


place. Recalled her with a shirer of agony and fear. 
How should she meet that noble, generous man, whose 
footsteps, even now, were bringing him momently nearer 
her. Should she reveal this new discovery, or should she 
hide it in her own bosom. That she must give him up, 
utterly, entirely ; ^rase with unflinching hand all the lines 
which he had drawn so deeply, so lovingly upon her heart 
— that she had felt from the first instant. But should she 
tell him the reason why ? 

“No,” she said, with that womanly strength which is 
stronger than the strength of men ; “ the pit which this 
man digs ever beneath my feet, I will go down into alone. 
They two are brothers. That saint up yonder has an equal 
interest in them both. No doubt her heart yearns even 
more tenderly over the erring, the prodigal one, than over 
him who has kept always the right path. No man is 
supreme over my fate. Only God, my Father, has ordered 
it all. To Him alone let me carry my heavy burden.” 

She rose, put back the portrait, and turned to meet her 
lover. 

“ I have kept you longer than I intended,” he said ; “ it 
is late ; are you weary of waiting? ” 

“ No,” she answered, quietly. “ I have been looking at 
your mother’s face. I should have loved her. But we 
must not linger now — we must go at once.” 

He closed the door, and gave the key into the hands of 
the man who was waiting outside, and then, assisting her 
to enter the carriage, they started ofi*. Rebecca felt that 
it was the last ride which they should ever take together, 
and she was very silent, very sad. Only long years of 
the patient practice of self-control could have given her 
strength to conceal her preoccupation from him. He, too, 
seemed quieter than usual, perhaps because the tender, 
haunting memories which the evening’s experiences had 
evoked, were not yet laid in their accustomed graves ; and 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


3;33 


the landscape, washed clear of color by the flood of moon- 
light which overflowed it, and lying one wide, varied study 
of pure light and shadow, was not more subdued in tone 
than their manner toward each other during that home- 
ward drive. Mr. Gladstone remembered it afterwards, 
and it seemed to him as if, even then, he might have 
known that a great gulf had suddenly hollowed itself out 
between them, out of which blew wind that was like that 
which blows from a place of graves. 

One question she asked him ; one request of his was 
graven deeply upon her heart. 

“You spoke of your brother,” she said; “what is his 
true name ? ” 

“ His name is Richard Peyton Clavering, though he was 
so constantly called Dick Gladstone, that even the old 
residents of the town scarcely remember that he had any 
other patronymic.” 

“ Which accounts,” said Rebecca, “for my never having 
heard it.” 

There was a moment’s silence, and then Mr. Gladstone 
said, earnestly and gravely : 

“ Reba, you are my good angel, now. If ever you hear 
me speak unkindly or unforgivingly of this man, will you 
not remind me that he is my mother’s son?” 

The appeal struck deeper than he knew ; but it did not 
sound the depths of that strong and tender heart. 

“ I will,” she said. “God forbid that ever I should place 
dissension or bitterness between you two.” 

Her course lay plain before her then, traced by the hand 
of her Father Himself. Oh ! could she walk it steadily, 
and without faltering, to the end? They went each to 
tlieir homes. He to a quiet, dreamless sleep ; she to a 
storm-tossed vigil. 

What memories she struggled with that night, what 
temptations, what weaknesses, only her Father knew. 

P2 


354 


A woman’s secret. 


What angels visited her, strength from what fountains 
was poured into her fainting heart, He also Icnew. 

When the morning came, she had resolutely broken 
every tie which bound her heart to her lover’s. The only 
thing she leaned on now, was the Father’s promise of 
peace. The peace of God’s acre? She knew not. So 
broken, so humble, so weary was she, that she scarcely 
cared to know. 


A woman’s secret. 


355 


t 


XXXIV. 

THE ARK OP THE LORD IN TABERNACLES. 

Ever since his illness in the spring, Moses Moss had 
been cloudily revolving in his mind the problems which 
that occasion had suggested. He was past fifty now ; he 
was nearing the bounds of his life ; the Hereafter would 
soon be a present reality to him. Was he prepared to 
meet it? 

Very possibly these serious impressions might have 
worn oif with his convalescence, if his patient and ener- 
getic wife had not taken great pains to preserve and 
deepen them. She had faithfully followed the doctor’s 
advice, and by means of persuasions and flatteries, and 
various feminine artifices not transcribable, had, in a good 
measure, won him from his old tavern life, and quickened 
his mind to a new interest in a higher order of things. 
But still she felt that her work was only begun ; and that, 
without the seal upon it of a Higher Power, there was no 
surety but that, at any moment, he might relapse into his 
old ways, and so all her efforts, and his strivings, go for 
naught. 

He went to church with her every Sunday, now ; but it 
seemed to him, and sometimes to her, that the services of 
God’s house were altogether thrown away upon him. The 
days were long and warm; the sermons were pitched to a 
key which, strain his mind as he might, he could never 
bring himself level to ; and the result was, he would go to 
sleep. In fact, it was a matter of congratulation to Mrs. 
Moss, if, by means of close watching, and sundry frequent 
nudges, she got him through the service without snoring. 
Moses began to be discouraged. 


35G 


A woman’s secret. 


“ It ain’t no use,” he said, “ I never did get no good out 
o’ meetin’-goiiig, when I was a boy, and it’s worse now, if 
anything. I don’t believe I’m one of the elect.” 

But Mrs. Moss had not been drilled in patience all her 
life, by that turbulent brood of hers, to give up now. 

‘-‘Moses,” she said, “that’s just a temptation of the Evil 
One. It may be meetin’-goin’ ain’t the thing you need. 
God doesn’t work by the same means in all cases; but if 
we keep steady on a-tryin’, it will come out plain by and 
by, what you do need. I hav’n’t given it up yet.” 

And Mrs. Moss fell back upon that sure refuge, the way 
to which is deeply worn by the feet of sorrowing, per- 
plexed, distressed mothers — prayer. 

Toward autumn, there came rumors of a camp-meeting 
to be held in the woods near the town, in October. Then 
Rachel Moss’ heart rejoiced. 

That’s the very thing for Moses,” she said. “I knew 
God was aware o’ what he needed, and would send it, if I 
only hung right on a-prayin’.” 

From that day forward, Rachel said little about the 
camp-meeting; but all her plans were silently shaped with 
reference to it. The boys’ new trousers were bought and 
made; Moses’ black coat was put in order; the fall cleaning 
was all got out of the way, and there was an extra dollar’s 
worth of sugar laid in to make cookies, and an extra ham 
bought to make sandwiches, all for camp-meeting. 

“What is your mother a-drivin’ at so?” Moses inquired 
of Jane, one day. “Seems as if she didn’t give herself 
no peace, day nor night, now-a-days.” 

“She wants to go to camp-meetin’,” said Jane, “and I 
think you might buy her a new gown. Mother liain’t got 
a bit of ambition about fixing herself up, though she’ll do 
for the rest of us, till the last breath.” 

“Lord, we can’t go to camp-meetin’, not to stay none,” 
said Moses, “and I dunno as I want to go.” 


A woman’s secret. 


357 


Camp -meeting, in Moses’ mind, was associated with 
whiskey, and scoflSng, and many things which just now he 
had a little fear of. 

“Well, I guess mother will go, and maybe you, 
too,” said Jane; “for I never did see her get set on 
anything, just as she is on this, but what she carried her 
p’int.” 

Mrs. Moss had a brother, a small farmer — a very small 
f[irmer, living a mile or two out of the town. As a matter 
of course, he kept a horse and wagon; a loose-jointed, 
faint-spirited, rickety concern, but still able to do duty as 
a means of transportation. The week before the camp- 
meeting, Mrs. Moss went over to brother Joe’s on a visit. 
While she was there, she managed to get a promise of the 
use of this beast of burden for one day. Moses had his 
weaknesses, and would never, she felt convinced, walk to 
camp-meeting. 

It was now well understood in the family what Mrs. 
Moss’ intentions were; but as the day drew nearer, Moses 
felt his heart sink within him. It was a great departure 
from his old course of life, for him to go to camp-meeting 
in any other character than that of a scoffer and a reveler. 
He began to doubt whether, after all, the old ways were not 
good enough for him. He had lived in them all his life; 
what was the use in changing now? The crosses and 
renunciations which he had heard faint-hearted Christians 
talk about, began to loom up before him with great 
distinctness, and were full of terrors to his weak soul. 
His sympathizing wife noted accurately all the changes in 
his mind, and as the expected time drew nearer and nearer, 
she worked with a faith that was almost desperate. 

On the very day before the meeting was to commence, 
Moses declared stoutly that he would not go. Mother 
might go if she liked, though he didn’t believe in women 
tramping off to such places by themselves ; but, as for him. 


358 A woman’s secret. 

he never did know any good done by camp-meetings, and 
go he wouldn’t. 

At that moment, if poor Rachel’s soul had not been 
firmly stayed on a Power outside of, and beyond herseft; 
if she had not felt that every fiber of strength in the 
Omnipotent arm was pledged to her support, her courage 
must have failed. Instead of that, she spent that whole 
night in prayer. She repeated, o^ er and over again, the 
good old promises on which she had leaned all her lifetime, 
and which had never yet failed her. In the morning, she 
remembered the old negro’s declaration, “Ef de Lord 
tells me to jump trough a stone wall, I’se gwine to jump 
at it. Jumpin’ at it is my business; gwine t’rough is de 
Lord’s business!” Moses was very sulky at breaklast, 
and spoke of his day’s work as though he meant to go 
about it as usual; but she, when she had cleared away the 
table, put out his Sunday suit upon the bed, and set one 
of the boys to black his boots. Then she calmly put on 
her own dress and laid out her bonnet and shawl. 

“Come, father,” she said, “it’s time for you to dress, 
and I’m ready to put on your collar for you.” 

It was a desperate moment. Rachel could distinctly 
count her own heart-beats during that instant of hesitation. 
At last, Moses laid down his hammer and his lapstone, 
and approached the bed-room door. 

“Seein’ you’ve engaged the horse, Rachel,” said he, 
“ I’ll drive you down there. But I sha’n’t promise to stay 
to none o’ the doin’s.” 

Rachel fairly turned pale; but she did not otherwise 
betray her agitation. How she bustled about, though, to 
keep him busy till the last moment, for fear his courage 
should fail! 

At last, the old red wagon drove up to the door, with its 
poor, cadaverous, resigned looking horse. If it had been 
a chariot of gold, Mrs. Moss could not have felt happier, 


A woman’s secret. 


359 


as she mounted it. It was not the triumph of success 
which so elated her, but of that inward trust in God 
which stayed her soul, and the all-sufficiency of which 
she had again that morning tested. Just as she went out 
of the door, she said privately to Jane, who was to be 
housekeeper : 

“ If your father and I don’t come back to-night, don’t 
you worry; and if we don’t come home all the week, don’t 
you worry. We shall come back when the right time 
comes, and not before.” 

The camp-ground was a wild, secluded place; but lighted 
up with the October splendor, it had a glory of its own, 
unsurpassed by minster or cathedral. The platform had 
been laid, the seats erected, and the tents pitched in a 
circle about them, on a previous evening, and by midday 
the few late comers were properly domiciled, and the 
opening services were commenced. The seats were well 
filled with an attentive audience; up and down the broad 
promenade outside, the restless spirits who had come more 
for the novelty and excitement of the meeting than from 
any desire of spiritual advancement, constantly walked; 
while from the tents bright faces peeped, of women busy 
yet with household duties; and from the circle outside of 
all arose a savory smell of ripe watermelons and boiling 
sweet corn. 

But over all the busy scene, the great trees spread their 
solemn arches, veined with a tracery of foliage more 
exquisite than any carved by mortal hands upon imperish- 
able stone; the golden October sunshine streamed down 
through splendors of coloring, unrivaled by ancient picto- 
rial windows; and the cool, sweet breath of the woodlands, 
and the aromatic incense which mother earth sent up to 
greet her children who had thus cast themselves upon her 
bosom, were a sweet smelling savor prepared by the hand 
of the great High Priest himself. 


360 


A woman’s secret. 


There seem to be some souls whose religious feelings 
are so enveloped by the husks and swaddling bands of 
an embryotic state, that only some sudden flood-tide of 
emotion, some resistless torrent of appeal, can penetrate to 
the germ and set the tide of life in motron. Such a soul was 
that of Moses Moss. The church, with its solemn services 
and spiritual exhortations, was powerless upon him; but 
out here in the woods there was a novelty and excitement 
of religious life which impressed him deeply. Prayer 
seemed to his materialized vision to have a clearer roa^ to 
heaven up through these trees, than when it ascended 
from the church pulpit. The hymns, too, so full of rousing 
life and energy, sung by the whole vast crowd, sinners as 
well as saints catching the inspiration and swelling the 
full-voiced chorus, seemed to him a difierent and far more 
spiritual thing than the trained performances of the village 
choir. Somehow, sitting among those fervent worshipers, 
he caught, before he knew it, the spirit of their devotions, 
and began to feel a bursting and a riving of the bonds of 
his soul, such as he had never experienced before. At first 
the sensation was deeply painful, but that was the true 
sign, after all, that the soul was really quickened and 
struggling to outgrow its old cerements of materialism. 

The sermon that morning chanced to be from the text, 
“Ye must be born again,” and the speaker pointed his 
discourse with an illustration drawn from the forest around 
him. “These acorns which you see hanging from the 
boughs,” he said, “are waiting for the frosts to ripen them, 
till they shall drop from the tree to the lap of the earth, 
perfected acorns. That will be their first birth. So you, 
my friends, were launched from the parent being, out upon 
this material life. But the acorn is not an acorn simply; 
it holds within it the germ of the future oak, which, if the 
earth receives it into her bosom, and the sunlight warms 
it, and the rain swells it to the bursting of its compact, 


A woman’s secret. 


361 


material shell, shall grow and thrive, and as the years 
pass on, add to the forest another tree, to this great 
beautiful temple of God, another pillar. That is its 
second birth. 

“So you, my friends, hold within your souls the still 
latent capacity, it may be, but still the capacity, to be an 
angel. You are not the child of fate or chance, as the 
acorn is, but a free agent in God’s moral world. You 
may hug close your material shell if you choose, and shut 
out the sunlight of God’s word, and the rain of His mercy, 
and so fail of your natural development; or you may open 
your hearts this day to the influence of his gracious Spirit, 
and receive the spiritual quickening which you need, and 
begin to let that soul of yours out of its long, blind, blank 
imprisonment.” 

Now, Moses could understand this, and see a truth and a 
beauty in it, which the doctrine of regeneration, as he had 
heard it preached before, had utterly lacked to his vision. 

“Why, that is it,” he said. “Mother’s angel must have 
been growing — well, pretty nigh all the time since I’ve 
known her; and mine — I’m afraid mine is in the acorn yet.” 
But from that moment he did ardently yearn to be set fi*ee 
from his bondage. 

It happened, as Mrs. Moss had calculated, that they did 
not go home that night. Moses was one of the first to go 
forward for prayers, and after that Mrs. Moss would not 
have left the ground without the assurance that those 
prayers were answered, if it had been to receive a fortune. 
The old dry husks of Moses’ soul needed a great deal of 
softening and mollifying before the spirit implanted within 
could burst through ; but on the third day it was as if a 
little green shoot made out into the light, and a soul was 
born. 

“Now, Moses,” said the good minister who had touched 
his heart at first, and who seemed like a very tall angel to 
Q 


362 


A woman’s secret. 


him, “it is a very tender plant yet, this new soul of yours; 
it will require much care; it will grow slowly, maybe; it 
will have seasons of seeming to stand quite still; but you 
know the oak tree has all the great, round earth to draw 
from, and all the great, wide heavens to spread its arms to, 
and your soul is just as well provided for. Never forget 
that; never lose faith in it, and God’s mercy will bring you 
through.” 

But Moses did not want to go home now. 

“Don’t you suppose,” he said to his wife, “that Jane 
will do well enough without us the rest of the week ? ” 

“I’ll tell you,” said Rachel. “ You stay right here, and 
I’ll go home for an hour or two — any of the neighbors will 
give me a ride, or I can walk for that matter — and then 
I’ll come back again.” 

It was settled so, and they staid the week out. When 
they went home, Moses was a very humble, but a very 
hopeful man, and Rachel was — the happiest woman in the 
town. 


A woman's secret. 


868 


xxxy. 

THE POWER THAT IS STRONGER THAN LOVE. 

Blessed be God for labor! If Rebecca, on the day after 
her ride to the old place, had had no other occupation than 
to brood over her distress, her heart would, no doubt, have 
softened, her hand grown less firm for the work that was 
before her; but this morbid indulgence of feeling her 
circumstances denied her. The short sleep which she 
gained after daylight, refreshed her indeed but partially; 
yet she rose, bathed her face in clear water to remove the 
tear stains, and dressed herself for the duties of the day. 
It did her good to get down once more into the keen, 
bracing air of trafiic; to feel masculine strength all about 
her; to look into men’s faces that were nerved for endeavor, 
to listen to their voices toned to absolute command. It is 
the curse of women, in times of sorrow, that they are kept 
so apart fi’om the sphere and influence of men. It is thus 
they grow sensitive, morbid, that their sorrows prey upon 
them to their own destruction. Rebecca did not lose all 
day the sense of the trial which lay before her. She knew 
that at evening Mr. Gladstone would seek her to say his 
last farewell before leaving for his Congressional duties. 
She knew she should need all the strength, composure, 
firmness which she could command, to still the moaning 
of her own heart, as she resolutely tore herself away from 
his clasp. Therefore, she crowded her hours with work 
as she had never done before; therefore, she listened to, 
talked and thought of, business, business all day long. 
When night came, her brain was jaded, but her heart 
was calm, her pulse strong. She looked back upon her 
decision, and knew that it was right, just, inevitable. To 


364 


A woman’s secret. 


do otherwise than as she had planned, would be frightful, 
monstrous. Why she was made to suffer thus was a 
sealed mystery in the Father’s hand; but as she pondered 
on it, the words of consolation that have fed the spiritual 
life of the world for ages rose soothingly to her mind. 
‘As thy day is, thy strength shall be.’ ‘A bruised reed 
he will not break.’ ‘Though he slay me, yet will I trust 
him.” Hereon she leaned as on a staff, and felt such 
fullness of strength supporting her, as those less tried can 
never know. 

When evening came, she dressed herself to meet her 
lover. Her hair was put back in a plain, quiet way, that 
yet became her. She chose a black robe, finished it with 
a plain linen collar, pinned with the cross of pearls. Her 
face was very pale, her eyes full of a deep and tender light, 
and the bright tint of her hair, contrasting with the white- 
ness of her face and the somberness of her robe, crowned 
her like a saint’s -glory. 

Mr. Gladstone entering, and finding her alone in the 
libraiy, caught the expression of her downcast face and 
drooping figure at once, but attributed it to her sorrow at 
his near departure. 

“My sweet Niobe,” he said, as he took her outstretched 
hand and kissed it. 

But, as she looked up into his face, he saw something 
there which startled him. 

“Reba,” he said, “you are in trouble. What is it?” 

She looked at him still, with that steady, tearful gaze ; 
her heart swelling, her lips unable to frame the words she 
must speak. Her lengthened silence struck his heart with 
a chill ; he drew her to him, as if to melt the chain which 
froze her utterance, by the warmth of his own bosom. 
She withheld herself from his embrace, and laying her 
clasped hands upon his shoulder, exclaimed ; 

“ Oh ! my darling,” in an agony that was tearless. 


A woman's secret. 


365 


She had never called him by that name before. He knew 
that only the deepest feeling could have wrung it from her 
Ups. The unquenchable sorrow of her eyes, the tremor 
which shook her voice, and pervaded her whole frame, 
appalled him. He thought at once of the mystery which 
shadowed her life. It seemed to him that a cloud charged 
with the lightnings of heaven hung over him, and waited 
but for her speaking, to discharge its fiery blast upon his 
head. The gloom of this suspense, the vagueness of this 
terror, afiected him more deeply than the most alarming 
certainty could have done. His strength, his very manli- 
ness were shaken to the core. 

‘‘ Reba,” he faltered, “ I implore you to speak ; to tell 
me what it is that has so overwhelmed you.” 

The sight of his distress calmed her. She felt that she 
had need of all the strength and firmness that ever woman 
possessed. 

“ My friend,” she said, “ I have something very painful 
to convey to you. It will shake, perhaps entirely unsettle, 
your trust in me. Therefore, first of all, I wish to assure 
you of one thing. However circumstances may seem to 
testify against me, I beg you still to believe that you have 
not been deceived in me ; that, were my heart and my life 
open utterly to your inspection, could you look at them as 
God looks at them, you would find nothing there to justify 
you in a single reproach, a single tremor of distrust.” 

“ Reba,” he said, “ I know all this, from a surer source 
than any words of yours. I have looked into your heart ; 
it is only your life which you withhold from me. I am 
wrong in sufiering you to conceal even that. I will endure 
it no longer. Tell me all, my darling, and prove how true 
my love is, how worthy of your largest confidence.” 

“Alas ! alas ! that you should ask me now, when it is no 
longer possible for me to obey you. My friend, I did wrong 
in that I ever supposed we could be happy together, with 


366 


A woman’s secret. 


this dark chasm of woe, and sin, and mystery, between us. 
God, in His providence, and in a way more emphatic and 
terrible than I could imagine beforehand, has shown me 
my error, and now I have to ask of you” — she hid her 
face; she could not control its workings — “that you will 
release me from all my vows ; that you will accept release 
from yours.” 

“Reba,” he said, catching her hand in a despair that 
was agony besides. “You do not know what you are 
saying; you do not mean it. You know well, that you are 
my life, my one treasure. I have waited all these years for 
you ; for you I have toiled ; for you I have suffered ; for 
you I have triumphed; since, losing you, I lose the blessing 
of all that fortune and my own right arm have wrought out 
for me. Rebecca, ask me to die, to lay down my life at 
your feet, but never ask me, while I live, to release my 
hold on you.” 

Her bosom swelled, and she heaved a pitiful sigh, but 
she was still firm. 

“My friend,” she said, “you do not know, you cannot 
know. In this one thing you must trust to me. You know 
that I love you ; oh ! how dearly I love you no man can 
know,” she exclaimed, in a sudden passion of tears ; then, 
as she gained strength to speak again: “You know how 
lonely my life is ; but for you, how utterly unloved ; you 
see the temptation, you see the agony I feel in putting it 
away from me ; do you think I would suffer all this myself, 
or inflict it upon you, if it were not imperatively neces- 
sary ? ” 

“Reba, this is a case in which you have no right to be 
the sole judge. If this blow must fall, which I do not 
believe, there is only one way in which it can be softened, 
and I have a right to that amelioration.” 

“ My friend, that is your error. If I saw that knowledge 
would soften the blow ; if I did not see that it would only 


A woman’s secret. 


867 


render the edge tenfold more keen, believe me, I would 
this instant disregard utterly the pain it would be to me. 
I would confess all ; but I, knowing all, in mercy spare 
you.” 

She had spoken purposely of her own pain, that he 
might, by all possible means, be restrained from urging 
her. 

“Reba,” he said, at length, “is Mrs. Darrell acquainted 
with this nevv determination of yours, and its cause ? ” 

“ No ; I can tell no one. It is a secret lodged sacredly, 
indefeasibly in my own possession.” 

“ I thank heaven for that ; after all we have been to each 
other, I could not have brooked a rival in this matter.” 
Then, after a pause: “ You are treating me like a child, 
Rebecca. Show me something to do, to battle with, and 
prove if I have not a man’s strength to defend my own.” 

“ If you knew all, you would renounce me of your own 
free will,” she said, “ and I could not bear that.” 

“ Oh ! Reba, you will never know me. My diamond 
may have a flaw in it, but what then ? It is a diamond, 
and I will part with it for no rubbish of too perfect paste.” 

“ Oh ! my friend, it is not I who have done this thing. 
It is God who has placed His hand between us. It is He 
who lays his Anger on my lips, and compels silence. It is 
He who metes out this bitter cup to both of us, and bids 
us in patience drink of it.” 

“Don’t teU me that, Reba; you shake my faith in 
heaven itself, when you say that. There is no Fatherly 
love, there is no God-like tenderness in such a dispensation 
as this.” 

Reba’s answer flowed instinctively in the language of 
one of old, who was troubled beyond his strength to bear. 

“‘Wait on the Lord,”’ she said, “be of good courage, 
wai7, 1 say, on the Lord.” 

“ Wait!” he exclaimed, “is there hope in waiting? Tell 


368 


A woman’s secret. 


me that, and I will curb my impatient spirit ; but have I 
not waited all these years. Oh ! Reba, it is too much. If 
God takes you from me; if He brings blackness, and 
desolation, and anguish, in place of all this light, and joy, 
and bloom, then I will no longer call Him Father; I will 
no longer believe Him the beneficent Being He proclaims 
Himself.” 

Reba had a strong spirit, but she shuddered at these 
rebellious words. Striving to soften and soothe him, her 
own heart grew soft. 

“ Oh ! wait for Him,” she said, “ you cannot know His 
purposes, you cannot know His ways. I, to whom so 
much of suffering has come, have this testimony to bear; 
that, looking back over my life, I see not one trial, now, 
which has not been to me a most precious blessing. It 
cannot be that this, the worst of all, will fail of its destiny. 
Out of the bitter, will come the sweet, if we can but 
possess ourselves with patience, and wait the Father’s 
time.” 

He put his arms about her, and laid his head upon her 
shoulder, and cried out piteously: 

“ Oh ! my good angel, my tender, holy saint, how can I 
give you up ? Strong man as I am, with wealth and honors, 
and a will to do in the world, I faint, I languish under this 
blow ; while you, a weak woman, lonely, friendless, unsus- 
tained, are strong, and bear me up. I shall fall into a pit 
of recklessness and despair'; I shall go all astray without 
you. My love, my life, I cannot give you up.” 

“Ho,” she said, flaming into sudden energy, “you will 
not go astray without me, you will not fall into a pit of 
recklessness and despair. My one friend, I have loved 
you too well for that. The memory of these hours we 
have spent together ; that, if naught else, will keep you 
from despair. Your hands have held mine, your lips have 
touched mine; keep them pure for me till we can meet 


A woman’s secret. 


369 


ill heaven. Oh, dearest heart, grow great, grow strong, 
thinking of that meeting. Life is a shred, a bit of tinder 
under the spark; it burns out wliile we look at it; but 
heaven is for all eternity. Let us live for that.” 

“No, Reba, life seems very long and very strong to me. 
Its duties press upon me. My way to heaven lies through 
the thick of them; and in every stress, every emergency, 
I shall need you.” 

“My friend, God is able to bring you through. The 
way which seems so long now will grow shorter as you 
advance. I kneAv a woman once who "was separated by 
circumstances from the love of her youth. She married 
afterward, was a true and worthy wife, a tender and 
excellent mother. Her husband adored, and her children 
revered her. But at seventy, while she was still a hale 
and hearty woman, with none of th'e childishness and 
infirmities of age upon her, she spoke to me of that early 
love. The girlish color came back to her cheek, the dim 
eyes filled with tears, and overflowed upon the wasted 
hands. ‘Ah!’ she said, ‘he will be mine, I shall be his — 
in heaven. For the bliss of that reunion, it hcis not been 
long to waity 

He held her fast; he looked into her eyes, with a glance 
that seemed to pierce to her very soul. 

“Reba,” he said, “tell me this; you will not marry, you 
will not bear children to another?” 

She laid her hand in his, and answered gently: 

“Never, my friend. If ever the time comes when I can 
safely and honorably resume these bonds, which now are 
so painfully laid off, there will be no obstacle of my 
creating in the way; and yet, the time may never come in 
this world; and you, with your strong life, your fair fame, 
your broad field of vision and action, you ought not to 
fetter yourself with any impracticable tie, and I do not 
ask it.” 


370 


A woman’s secret. 


He looked at her for a moment, and then turned away 
in silence. At length he said : 

“ Reba, you make miicll Of my hohse and lands, and 
name and honors. Know that, for the right to call this 
little hand my own, and to appropriate to myself all that 
would go with it, I would renounce all these things 
forever. And this is no idle boast of passion, no gallant 
phrase from the lips of a headstrong, sensuous boy, but 
the full outcome of a strong man’s heart. Reba, I love 
you; oh, I love you!” 

The moisture of his eyes, the convulsive working of his 
features, touched her heart with anguish he could not know. 

“It grieves me most of all,” he said, “that you will not 
confide in me.” 

“Yes,” she replied, “I know that, for the deepest sting 
of my own grief is, that I cannot confide in you. If that 
resource, that consolation were left me, my trouble would 
be lightened one-half; but, my friend, it cannot be.” 

At the first, the suddenness of the blow had over- 
whelmed him; and taking advantage of his surprise, she 
had borne him on with the current of her own thought 
and feeling, past the natural barriers and obstacles which 
he might be expected to raise; but now, as he nerved 
himself for the situation, and grew calm enough to make 
some effort to command it, they naturally recurred to his 
mind. But the advantage she had gained, she kept. 

“Reba,” he said, “it must be. You confess that to 
confide in me would lighten your sorrow; then I insist 
that you shall so confide, regardless of any other conse- 
quences. I am a man, you a woman. I would scorn 
an immunity from grief, purchased at such cost. It is 
unnatural, it is wrong. It is Quixotic, absurd, in you to 
think of such a thing.” 

“ I was wrong,” she replied, “ in speaking so, or you 
were wrong in so interpreting me. I only meant that, if 


A woman’s secret. 371 

it were possible for me to confide in you, I should do so 
with relief. As it is, confession would rack both your 
soul and mine with unnecessary pain. Now, when you 
leave me, you have still a world of action, of ambition, to 
fall back upon; a world in which you will be recognized, 
and wherein you will earn rewards that cannot fail to 
cheer you. Ten words that I might speak would canker 
your ambition, paralyze your action, make your world a 
desert, and I should be tenfold more deeply lost to you 
than I am now.” 

“Your imagination still busies itself with the empty 
shows of this world. Reba, they are nothing to me. 
Lean your head upon my shoulder, and tell me all that is 
in your heart; make yourself one with me in reality, as 
you have promised, and I will fly with you beyond the 
reach of this ban, this blight, this nameless thing of evil. 
We will wrench ourselves utterly out of this life which we 
have led; we will cast it behind us as a worn-out garment; 
we will commence the world anew, as free from encum- 
brance as new-born babes. Why, a man is no man, if 
he cannot free himself from an evil in which he has no 
actual part.” 

“A man, it is true, may defy the powers of evil; not so 
a woman. Besides, we cannot lay memory aside as a 
cast-oflT garment. If we take the wings of the morning, 
and fly to the uttermost parts of the earth, even there 
shall this sin grimly come between us, a shadow, a ban, a 
curse forever. Oh! my friend, if I looked upon it utterly 
as a dispensation of man’s will, I should sink in the deep 
waters of doubt and unbelief. But I know it is of God; 
therefore, I dare not murmur. The hearts of men are in 
His hand, and He turneth them as the rivers of water are 
turned. When the time comes he will assuage these 
billows, and set our feet on dry land. Till then we must 
wait?'* 


372 


A woman’s secret. 


“And languish unto death. Reba, there is no force, no 
beauty, nothing to be desired in life, when you are taken 
from me.” 

“Yet, still the world goes round; still the stars burn in 
their courses; still the sun shines on the evil and on the 
good ; still God reigneth over all. Oh ! my love, my life, 
what is one human heart compared with this great universe 
built up in God’s ‘love; this vast illimitable sea of being 
upon which we are launched. While duty, aspiration, 
God, are left, let no man nor woman despair. • They are 
more than enough to live for at this present, and they will 
lead on to blessings untold, unutterable. You have a 
man’s strength; let it first defy the evil of your own heart; 
its doubt, its unbelief, its despair.” 

I cannot tell you how the hours wore on; how these two, 
having put mere human passion under their feet, soared 
into a region higher, more celestial, and drank of fountains 
they had never known before. The stars had marked 
the midnight watches before he left her; but when he wrung 
her hand in that last tearful adieu, the earth seemed no 
bigger than a point in space, and heaven lay all about 
them, wide, and free, and full of glory. 


A woman’s secret. 


373 


XXXVI. 

A LOVE THAT WAS FREE. 

Mr. Gladstone had a busy day, and at evening bade 
farewell to his native town in a very much graver mood 
than any of the numerous friends who accompanied him 
to the d^p6t, and sent him off with cheei-ful admonitions, 
and good wishes, and heartfelt blessings, could have 
imagined. 

All day those two lines had rung through his mind like 
far-oft' chimes: 

“ Not enjoyment and not sorrow 
Is our destined end or way.” 

It seemed to him that hitherto he had been living in the 
vestibule of his life, which was opened by the door of this 
great sorrow, into a vast auditorium hitherto unsuspected. 
Already solemn purposes, sublime aspirations, strong 
endeavors beckoned him within; and he felt that if he 
joined them, clasped hands with them, he must leave 
much of life’s airy splendor, its festal light and beauty 
behind him. 

“ Can I cast the shining charms of life to the winds ? ” 
he asked himself. “ Can I trample all its gay and tempting 
fascinations under my feet? can I die to the flesh, living 
only to the spirit; take the world’s burdens upon my 
shoulders instead of the sweet burdens of love, and home, 
and children? can I satisfy myself with this spiritual 
wrestling, this shadowy, spiritual crown ; and all without 
her — in that dismal, shivering cold and darkness which 
the eclipse of her heavenly, yet human, face dispenses?” 
The whisper came to him as from that inmost cell in his 
heart where her sweet image was enshrined. “ So shall she 
be nearest to you ; so her smile be sweetest through hours 


374 


A woman’s secret. 


that were otherwise blank and bitter; so her memory and 
her love make bright and beautiful, what else no power 
on earth could make other than cold, and barren, and 
desolate.” He gained in that moment some faint glimpse 
of how infinitely the powers of the spirit transcend the 
powers of the flesh; how the one reach down and fettei 
themselves to clods of earth, whilst the other stretch 
away through fields of light beyond the stars, and stay 
themselves at last on the infinite bosom of God. He shed 
some tears, he heaved some sighs, he heaped some grave 
mounds, whose nameless headstones were more eloquent 
to him than mighty mausoleums of lettered marble; but he 
entered the gay capital, with its dazzle, its fascinations, its 
shifting, sensual allurements, with a mind and faith as 
simple, yet as strong, as the faith of the Hebrew youth 
when he went forth to encounter the giant of Gath. 

But on the morning of the day of his departure, the 
breakfast bell had rung at Mrs. Darrell’s, and the family 
had gathered about the table, and there was still one 
absent. Mrs. Darrell said to Maude, as they rose from the 
table, and there was yet no addition to their number : 

“My dear, do go up and knock at Reba’s door, and see 
if she is ill. She is always so punctual that I really feel 
alarmed.” 

Maude came back in a few minutes with a frightened 
look. 

“Mamma,” she said, “I think you ought to go yourself 
and see her. She is ill, I am sure. She says it is only a 
headache, but her face has the look of death on it.”, 

Mrs. Darrell hastened to her friend’s bedside. 

“ Why, Reba,” she said, “ you are certainly sick. Why 
have you not sent for me before?” 

“I have a slight headache, but that is all,” said Reba, 
faintly. “Absolutely not another pain,” she added, seeing 
the incredulous look upon Mrs. Darrell’s face. “But I 


A WOMAN S i: EC RET. 


375 


do not feel very strong, and I think I shall have to stay 
away from the office, if Mr. Darrell will take my excuse 
to them.” 

Mrs. Darrell sat in silence for a moment. Then she 
answered very quietly, 

“ Certainly, he will do that. What shall I send up for 
your breakfast?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Not a cup of coftee and some toast?” 

“No, I could not eat it. If I am quite by myself, 
perhaps I may get a little sleep.” 

Mrs. Darrell went down stairs deeply troubled. The 
doctor came in, in the course of the morning, and she told 
him her anxiety. 

“H’m!” said the doctor. “IIo! ho!” and then, after a 
few minutes’ meditation with downcast eyes: “She rode 
out with Gladstone night before last, didn’t she?” 

“Yes.” 

“Went over to the old place?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did she speak of going about the house? Did she see 
the portraits Marston painted there? You know he took 
the whole family.” 

“I’m sure I can’t say,” said Laura, quite at sea concern- 
ing the doctor’s object in asking. 

“ I know she seemed very much out of spirits all day 
yesterday, but I thought it might be because Gladstone 
was going away. I even thought this morning that that, 
and her sitting up late, might have something to do with 
her headache; but she looks as I never saw her look 
before. Wouldn’t you better go up and see her?” 

“No, no,” said the doctor, pensively. “I won’t go up 
and see her now. Give her a little time; a — little — 
time. I will come in again toward night, and if she isn’t 
any better. I’ll see her then.” 


376 


A woman’s secret. 


The doctor went away with his head bowed down and 
a very grave look upon his face. In the afternoon he 
called again, as he had promised. In the course of the 
day he had seen Mrs. Durfee, the farmer’s wife at the old 
place, and had drawn from her in a quiet way all the facts 
Avhich she knew concerning the visit there; among the rest, 
that “Miss March had been in the parlor alone for near 
about half an hour;” that, “standing outside on the piazzy, 
she had seen her looking at the pictures. Dick Glad- 
stone’s was in that room, a-standin’ on the floor; but she 
saw, when she went in to shut up the room, that it had 
been moved.” 

“Ho ! ho !” said the doctor. “Richard is coming home, 
I hear, coming home. Didn’t do as well in South America 
as he expected to. Is coming home to settle down. Don’t 
know what he’ll find to do in this tOAvn. It is a small 
place for a big man. Richard was always a — mighty big 
— feeling — man. Good morning, Mrs. Durfee, good morn- 
ing. If Job’s rheumatism don’t get any better, tell him to 
come down to my office and I’ll give him some liniment. 
Good day.” 

“ The doctor,” said Mrs. Job Durfee, “ is just the pry- 
in’est man I ever did see. What airthly consarn o’ his 
Avas’t what that gal did when she was over to the place. 
It has just got to be a second natur’ with him to squint, 
and pry, and dive inter things, and it ain’t o’ no more use 
than the wind’s Avhistling.” Which conclusion answered 
Mrs. Durfee’s turn just as well as a Aviser one would have. 

That evening the doctor went up to Reba’s room. She 
was lying on her pillow A^ery white; and, as Maude had 
said, Avith the look of death upon her face. 

The doctor felt her pulse, and held her hand in his a 
moment after; he asked few questions, but noted with 
careful, critical eye, two or three symptoms which told 
him all he wanted to know. 


A woman’s secret. 


377 


“Laura,” he said to Mrs. Darrell, who stood by the 
bed, “you’d better go down and tell Nancy to get a jug of 
hot water ready to put to her feet. She needn’t bring it 
up now, but when I am gone.” Laura went down quite 
innocent of any suspicion that the doctor desired her 
absence. 

“You must keep still,” he said, “for a day or two, but 
not too long, Rebecca. It isn’t best ever to give way to 
the feelings too long.” He was holding her hand now, 
and leaning back in his chair with his eyes tightly closed. 
He had no wish to see the pain upon her face, which he 
knew his words would cause. “We can’t any of us get 
out of the world till our time comes ; but we must try to 
have strength to live in the world. I shall send you up a 
little medicine, which I hope will give you a start ; and 
just as soon as you are able, I want you to ride out with 
me. I shall like your company, and it will do you good ; 
do — you — good. Rebecca, a friend is born for adversity; 
I should — like — it, — if — you — would — consider — me — 
a friend y 

The doctor opened his eyes just in time. His gentle 
tone had touched Rebecca’s heart. The tears had been 
stealing through the lids, against her firm determination 
to shut them back, all the while that he had been speaking; 
but, at these last words, the fiood-gates burst, and she 
sobbed convulsively. The doctor laid his hand softly upon 
her head. 

“ That’s right,” he said ; “ you hav’n’t cried before, all 
day. It will do you good.” He sat by her five minutes, 
perhaps, in silence; his grave, gentle presence, all the 
time softening the paroxysm of her grief. Then he said : 
“ Now, I think you are relieved, and might better take an 
anodyne. It is simple ; it won’t hurt you. When I came 
in, I was a little afraid of a slow fever; but — you’ll — get 
over it — without — now — I hope. I hope you will.” He 
Q3 


378 


A woman’s secret. 


took a powder from his pocket, and dropping it into water, 
placed it to her lips, and she swallowed it. In another 
moment she was able to speak to him. 

“Oh! doctor Gaines,” she said, “ I cannot thank you.” 

“You needn’t try, Rebecca; you needn’t tiy,” was all 
he said. “ I shall come in again, in the morning.” 

He did come in again, and found that his patient had 
slept, and was decidedly better. She was very weak yet. In 
that night of trial and sorrow she had drained her system 
of its best energies; had used up nervous force enough 
to have sufficed for weeks of her ordinary life ; but she had 
buoyed the soul of her lover up out of the slough into which 
it had threatened to sink ; she had yielded him inspii*ation 
which should make him strong for months to come. 

In three days time she was able to ride out with the 
doctor. In a week she was back at the office ; pale still, 
with a look of sustained trial on her face which chal- 
lenged attention, but forbade remark ; but able to go about 
her duties without faltering or failure. She made no confi- 
dants; she noticed as little as possible the remarks which 
were made concerning the fact that no letters came to her 
from Washington. To Mrs. Darrell she said, quietly, “It 
is all over; we shall never marry;” to the doctor, still less. 
But she knew that he, at least, knew all. She could not 
tell how ; she did not care to know, so long as his knowl- 
edge was her one unfailing comfort, and the source of all 
her human consolation. Again and again she said to herself, 
that, but for the doctor, she must have sunk. Again and 
again she reflected how much misery might be saved to 
women, how oftentimes their very lives spared, if the men 
about them would yield them just this pure, wise, disinter- 
ested friendship. 

The short December days came and went, and Christmas 
drew near. The Puritan horror of this most blessed anni- 
versary is not yet extinct in New England; but, year by 


A woman’s secret. 


379 


year, it is softened by the inroads of a broader and brighter 
faith. On this year of all, Mrs. Darrell felt that it would 
be a twice blessed relief to at least one inmate of her house, 
if the season should be observed with unusual ceremony. 
So a Christmas tree was ordained, and many otherwise 
lonely and sorrowful hours Reba spent in the midst of the 
children, devising and executing decorations for the same. 
But, when that day arrived, the joy it brought to the 
Darrell household, was poor and pale beside that which 
illuminated the humbler home of the Mosses. 

Hitherto Christmas had passed over their family chimney, 
and had dropped there no beneficent Santa Claus. The 
eager little Mosses always secretly hoped, till the last, that 
some good genius, sprite or fairy, might alight upon their 
hearth-stone, and surprise them with a present of a 
“boughten” toy, or at least a piece of “trainin’” ginger- 
bread ; but, alas ! none ever came. When the Christmas 
sun had circled the globe, and reappeared on their horizon, 
a Christmas sun no longer; when the last doubt was 
banished, the last, lingering hope dispelled, they always 
drew a long breath, and comforted themselves with the 
refiection, that at least they were no worse off than they 
had been two days before. Adversity had made philoso- 
phers of the little Mosses. 

But this Christmas was destined to be a brilliant excep- 
tion to all its dingy predecessors. On that very Christmas 
eve, after they had gone to bed, omitting, as a useless 
ceremony, to hang up their stockings, there came a 
stealthly knock at the door, and to the surprise of the 
two elders, it opened to admit Miss March and the doctor. 

“ Why,” said Mrs. Moss, “ this is surprisin’. Why, it’s 
a’most as good to have you two come, as ’twould be to 
have a real Santa Claus.” 

“Ah!” said Reba, “how do you know that we hav’n’t 
brought Santa Claus. See, here is a great bundle I received 


380 


A woman’s secret. 


fi-om New York, to-day, by express; the contents of which 
I was to deliver here at nine o’clock. Come, Mrs. Moss,” 
she continued, with true Christmas glee, “ get me some 
stockings at once, and hang them in a line. I’ve got 
enough to fill all there are in the house.” 

Moses was listening with open mouth and eyes. “What 
the dickens do you mean. Miss Reba?” he asked, at length. 

“ Oh ! I know,” said Rachel, tears coming into her eyes. 
“It’s my boy Theodore has sent it. I knew he hadn’t 
forgot his home ; but it’s the beater of all to think that he 
should send us a Christmas.” 

She bustled about, half demented with joy, to get the 
stockings, stopping every half minute to look at the 
wonders which Reba displayed. They were simple, inex- 
pensive gifts, for Theodore was getting small pay yet; but 
they were so well chosen, that it was evident he had spent 
a good deal of time and thought over the selection. A 
nice, warm sontag for his mother; a comical, colored pipe 
for his father; a comb for Jane; a necktie for Belinda; 
and tops, and dancing-jacks, and climbing monkeys, for the 
younger fry. For each one something, and just the thing 
which each most wanted. And such a merry, rollicking 
Christmas letter, too, as came with the bundle. It did 
them all good to hear it read, for Mrs. Moss got out her 
spectacles, and read it aloud, half blinded and completely 
choked by spells with happy tears. 

“ You mustn’t think I’ve been extravagant, mother,” he 
said, “for I hav’n’t taken a penny of my regular wages 
for these things ; but have worked evenings at such jobs 
as I could get, earning two shillings one night and four the 
next, maybe, on purpose for this. If I could only go home 
myself with the things, and see how happy you all are, 
that would be the crowning thing of all. But I know you 
will write me, and so will Miss Reba, and next summer, if 
nothing happens, I mean to come home myself.” 


A woman’s secret. 


381 


There had been a little postscript to the letter, which 
Rebecca had not shown Mrs. Moss. In a pi-etty box by 
itself there had been a bracelet of Roman pearl, which 
he had asked Reba to deliver, if she thought it would not 
offend her, to Maude Darrell, with his best wishes. “ It is 
not expensive,” he said, “and the young ladies here wear 
them, and Miss Maude was always so kind to me when I 
was in her father’s store.” 

Reba had executed her commission in a very quiet and 
delicate way, and had watched the color creep into 
Maude’s cheek — Maude had her aunt Joanna’s charming 
blush — and had indulged herself in a trifle of speculation 
about it; but she had not thought it wise to tell all this 
to Mrs. Moss. 

After Reba and the doctor had gone, Moses Moss and 
his wife sat with clasped hands, and happier hearts than 
young lovers in their teens can dream. 

“I tell you, said Mrs. Moss, “it is worth living for, worth 
being old and gray and worn out, to have such a boy as 
that.” 

“He’ll do more in the world than his father has ever 
done,” said Moses, pensively. 

“Well, now, you needn’t say that,” said Rachel, “for 
you’ve worked and slaved, and gone without, to bring him 
up, and all the rest of ’em; and they’re a likely lot so far; 
and the Father above, he knows that it’s more to the world, 
and more wearin’, too, to the flesh, to bring up a family 
of good children, than it is to make a fortune and keep it 
shut up in bank vaults. This night, I tell ye, Moses, I 
don’t envy any rich man his fortune.” 

“Well, nor I neither, for that matter,” said Moses. “The 
Lord has been pretty good to us, after all, Rachel ; and 
what little we don’t get in this world, he’ll more’n make 
up to us in another, I s’pose.” 

Moses’ faith was a tender plant as yet, but it showed 


882 


A woman’s secret. 


unmistakable signs of growth, and only the good Father 
knew with what prayers, and tears, and watchings his 
faithful wife tended it. 

Of the joy of the children on that Christmas morning it 
is bootless to speak. It was an occasion long to be remem- 
bered. From that day forth, not at the home fireside 
only, but all through the village, for Mrs. Moss did not 
fail to spread the fame thereof with much motherly pride 
and joy, it was a settled conclusion that Theodore Moss 
was growing to be an honor to his friends. 


A woman’s secret. 


883 


XXXVII. 

THE FLOWER OP THE AGES. 

The winter passed, and Richard Clavering did not make 
his appearance, and all rumors concerning him ceased. 
Reba had once felt that she must leave the town before his 
an-ival; but the time of that event seemed so uncertain, 
and the ties which bound her to this sheltering home 
grew day by day so strong; above all, she felt so little 
strength to go out again into the world, and make for 
herself new conditions and new ties, that she still lingered, 
comforting herself with the vague hope that this form of 
trial might be spared her. 

As the spring opened, Mrs. Darrell’s desire to enter the 
lists of Reform began to take definite shape. 

“I have thought the matter over carefully and prayer- 
fully,” she said to Reba, one evening, “and this is the 
result: The field is white to the harvest; the laborers are 
few. They work in separate knots and cliques, as is best 
at present; one band laboring for reforms in dress and 
habits of life ; another, for freedom in the world of labor 
and commerce and art; another undertaking to obtain 
civil and political rights. These are all doing well; God 
speed them every one. Yet there are two other points 
of vantage, one of them already partially occupied, which 
attract my more immediate and active efibrts. The first 
is the field of medical science. The primary question in 
determining whether we ought to work at all in this direc- 
tion, is: What is woman? What are her capacities? To 
what uses is she best fitted? To show what she can do, 
is truly to answer the question in one way; but to show 
what God made her, and with what intention he so made 


384 


A woman’s secret. 


her, is to answer it in a more direct and conclusive way. 
For this answer, we must appeal to science. 

“We must have women thoroughly educated concerning 
the female organism, and its true uses; women who shall 
add to the knowledge already possessed by male physi- 
cians, a more intimate and farther-reaching comprehension 
and intuition concerning the primal and eternal laws of 
reproduction, than men, from the utter barrenness of their 
experience in the matter, can possibly attain to. These 
women must be, not altogether physicians and nurses, 
though that is incidentally a desirable end; but teachers 
in all that relates to woman’s great transcendent duty, the 
proper generation and bearing of children. If the terrible 
and murderous practices of mamed women toward their 
unborn offspring are ever abolished, it must be by throw- 
ing a flood of true intelligence upon the subject, through 
all classes of society. And this it is the work of women 
to do. Nor is this all. The alarming proportion of deaths 
among infants is a reproach to the race; and one which 
will never be removed till every woman is so trained and 
educated to a proper knowledge of facts concerning the 
laws of bearing and rearing children, that she shall be 
able to give her babes the intelligent care which Nature 
demands of her as the price of their lives. A true and 
thorough knowledge of all these things is the natural and 
inalienable Right of Woman. 

“And such knowledge can only be secured to her 
through the persevering and well directed efforts of 
women. No writer on medical science ever yet had a 
mother’s experiences ; knew the thousand and one subtile 
links which connect the forming soul with the matern l1 
life. The deep, absorbing, infinite mystery of motherhood 
has been only superficially and oftentimes sneeringly 
observed by men, who looked upon it in the main as 
drudge work spared the nobler sex by a beneficent Provi- 


A woman’s secret. 


386 


deuce, and branded all over with marks of weakness and 
ignominy and a fallen estate. Science only waits our 
reverent, trustful asking to refute all this; but she will 
never reveal these sacred secrets of womanhood to the 
impure, irreverent gaze of men. It is women themselves 
who must unlock the mystery.” 

“I have long been of the opinion,” said Reba, “that the 
sciences of medicine, of jurisprudence and of theology, 
are destined to receive a thorough re-writing at the hands 
of enlightened, conscientious women. Men have laid the 
foundation ; they have done and are doing such work as is 
fitted to them, with more or less praiseworthy zeal and 
fidelity; but beyond this, there is a range of investigation 
and discovery which can only be entered and profitably 
worked by the finer and more intuitional powers of 
woman.” 

“This very subject of which we are now speaking is a 
case in point,” said Mrs. Darrell. “Physicians cry ‘quack,’ 
with holy horror, but what is the whole science of medi- 
cine, as appiled to the female constitution, but empiricism, 
so long as the regular collegiate teachings in this matter 
are so blind to the plainest facts and deductions concern- 
ing it, as every intelligent mother knows them to be. More 
than half the physicians one meets, all the so-called 
conservatives of the profession, sneer at the idea of ante- 
natel influences affecting the mental constitution of a 
child; while the commonest facts in the mother’s experience 
are those which go to make up the irrefragable proofs of 
the law. Science depends on facts, not on a priori 
reasoning, and so long as the testimony of enlightened 
women is excluded and sneered at, I beg to know how 
these all-wise gentlemen are to possess themselves of the 
rudiments of knowledge on the subject ?” 

“But you mentioned another point, toward which your 
efforts would tend. I am eager to hear what it is.” 

R 


386 


A woman’s secret. • 


“It is the purification of society from its over-mastering 
sin of licentiousness. There is great outcry, just now, 
about prostitution, as if that were the main-i^pring of all 
evil in that direction. But prostitution itself is but an 
effect, a more terrible and revolting one, it is true, than 
society at all recognizes as yet; but still the legitimate 
and inevitable effect of that license which the men of all 
ages have claimed concerning the indulgence of their 
passions. In the early times, the right of man to make a 
prey of woman was unquestioned. Later intelligence has 
had feeble suspicions concerning the inherent and inalien- 
able nature of this right; but men have ever been ready, 
with the most atrocious and blasphemous falsehoods, to 
claim divine authority and sanction for the abomination. 
Physicians will even unblushingly declare that the God of 
Purity and Truth has so made the masculine portion of 
the race, that impurity is an actual necessity to their 
physical well-being; while at the same time they carefully 
abstain from setting forth the undeniable fact of the 
emphatic and terrible seal of condemnation which he has 
set upon it. But, in these days, one need go to no physician 
or medical text-book for the proof of the penalties which 
men invoke upon themselves. Not only the newspapers 
teem with them; but, in a most literal sense, the very 
stones of our walls and sidewalks cry aloud with the story 
of their shame. 

“Now, while women have always been the prey and 
victims of this state of things, it is also true that but for 
the negative support which it derives from their timidity 
and silence, it could not exist for a day. Ihe bargain 
seems to have been, hitherto, that if the stronger sex 
would protect the weaker in the practice of virtue, the 
weaker sex would protect the stronger in the practice of 
vice. All this must be changed. As this advancing tide 
of licentiousness sweeps up into our very homes, assailing 


A woman’s secret. 


387 


the honor and undermining the virtue of both men and 
women — for it has come to that, that among respectable 
women of idle and luxurious lives, not a few of the 
devotees of vice are found — women who still stand fast 
by honor, and truth, and humanity, and God, must cry 
aloud and insist that not so shall altar and fireside be 
desecrated. Until women shall display the firmness and 
the moral courage necessary to this work, they will not be 
worthy of emancipation, and they surely will never obtain 
it.” 

“Mrs. Darrell, it gladdens my soul to hear one woman 
of your position and influence talk in this manner; and I 
am all eagerness to know the practical steps by which you 
intend to reach that pinnacle of success which I can but 
hope awaits yo'u.” 

“The first and most pressing necessity is, it seems to 
me, to rouse the public mind to the need of such reforms. 
When I was married I had a portion of two thousand 
dollars, which, under Ralph’s admirable management, is 
more than quadrupled. To this sum Ralph promises to 
make a handsome addition, as soon as it shall appear that 
the practical prosecution of the work requires it. Our 
children will never miss it; or, if they should, may be 
better without it than with it; for I can but think that 
a heritage of pure and beneficent living is far better for 
children than much money. This fund, then, I propose 
to use for the following purposes; First, to incite in our 
Female Medical Colleges, and throughout the medical 
world generally, a more thorough study and outspoken 
promulgation of the fundamental laws of maternity. 
From college professors all the way down to girls in their 
teens, the light must be thoroughly transfused and made 
practical, until the great mass of women shall be made to 
feel, not only that it is murder to kill their children, but 
that it is also murder to bring them into the world under 


388 


A woman’s secret. 


such conditions that there is only one chance in a dozen 
of their reaching maturity. The cry of the innocents has 
gone up to heaven, and I feel in my soul that God will 
not much longer delay the answer to it.” 

“I like your plan heartily. Women have long enough 
given money to endow colleges for young men. It is quite 
time they began to do something for their own sex. More- 
over, when women become enlightened concerning the 
significance and sacredness of their peculiar functions, 
they will no longer be the easy prey of licentious men, 
which they too often are at present; and by that very 
means men will learn in time to regard them with alto- 
gether a deeper respect.” 

“That is very true. It is the well armed man whom 
robbers never attack, and the libertine is equally cowardly. 
There was a time when I was half disposed to found a 
Magdalen Asylum, but a little reflection taught me that, 
while these institutions are excellent in their way, and 
ought by all means to be encouraged, they do not, after all, 
strike at the root of the evil. To attempt to stay the 
desolating effects of man’s sensuality by means of such 
appliances, is like trying to dip up the ocean with a tea- 
spoon. The remedy must go deeper, and purify the nature 
of the man himself, till he shall learn to see in woman a 
being whom his own best interests require him to revere 
and not profane. In almost all our large cities there are 
good women at work among the abandoned of their 
own sex. These women learn, from day to day, the 
most appalling fiicts concerning the hideous depravity 
of society in regard to licentiousness. They must be 
brought to speak aloud and shock the world, if need be, 
with a knowledge of its hidden sins. Then, and not till 
then, will a united, persevering, and irresistible effort be 
brought to bear upon this gigantic evil. Reports must be 
made, publications circulated, facts given, and the whole 


A woman’s secret. 


389 


subject thoroughly exposed to the public view. Truly is 
‘Mystery the mother of harlots, and of the abominations 
of the earth.’ And when the apocalyptic vision shall be 
realized, and this woman in scarlet smitten from her high 
pre-eminence, the dawn of a purer era wilt truly begin.” 

“Mrs. Darrell, this plan provides for the use of your 
money. What do you intend to do with your mental power, 
which, it seems to me, is an equally responsible gift?” 

“Employ it whenever and wherever, whether in public 
or private appeals, I can make it available. I have not 
the literaiy experience necessary to enable me to write a 
book; but I can, perhaps, manage newspaper articles, and 
these I shall attempt, not with any idea of winning fame, 
but with the sole motive of stirring up public thought. 
There are too many educated women who neglect their 
duty in this respect, I think. Who would be free, them- 
selves must strike the blow! Our battle-field is as wide 
as the world. Let every woman, standing in the place 
whereto God has called her, use whatever power she has, 
steadily, earnestly, unflinchingly, and the result will soon 
be felt upon the world at large.” 

“In appealing to men, in the mass, I think we feel 
instinctively that they are selfish, and mostly accessible by 
means of arguments addressed to their self-interest. But 
it seems to me that the strongest appeal which can be 
made to unselfish, womanly natures, is the good which 
they have it in their power to bestow upon the race. Why, 
there are a thousand abuses which would slink away like 
thieves at daylight, before the influence of free, humane, 
enlightened Womanhood. Politics would become a busi- 
ness fit for respectable men to engage in; our criminal 
courts would cease to be the theater of foul wranglings 
and obscene personalities; our police courts, instead of 
administering a mockery of justice to the ignorant and 
debased, serving no earthly purpose but to sink those vile 


890 


A woman's secret. 


wretches into still deeper depths of abasement, would 
radiate an enlightened charity. No man in his senses can 
imagine a decent woman sitting in such a stench of filth 
and iniquity, without crying aloud and raising the town 
for reform. There would be tenant-houses built, fit for 
beings with souls in them to inhabit; and I even cherish 
the faint hope that the time would eventually come when 
brothels would cease to be a necessary evil, and the heca- 
tombs of innocent women, now yearly sacrificed on the 
altars of man’s lust, would be spared to be useful members 
of society.” 

“ My dear Mrs. Darrell, it is a positive pleasure to hear 
you talk in this way; independently of what you say, 
your eyes do brighten up so, your cheek gets such a 
glorious color, and there is every way such a seeming of 
strength about you. 1 should like to see the man who, 
looking at you this moment, would dare to think of your 
forty-five years, and sneer at you as an old woman.” 

“Ah ! my dear, the strength is not in me ; it is in the 
cause. I suppose, if the most insignificant man were to 
grasp the thunderbolt of Jove, he would become in that 
moment sublime. For the rest, I thank God that, if He 
spares my life, I have yet twenty years of usefulness before 
me, during which time I trust He will save me from the 
fate of sitting in the chimney-corner, knitting blue yarn 
stockings, and fretting at my grandchildren. Women 
have inventive minds, and when they have been released 
by age from the more confining duties of the home, the 
more active of them have sought out many ways of 
employing themselves ; but it has been a great loss to the 
world, that so many others have been compelled to spend 
the remainder of their days in a slow process of rusting 
out. The woman who has borne and reared a family, has 
a knowledge of human nature, and of the ways and means 
best adapted to control and influence it, which few men 


A woman’s secret. 


391 


possess ; and with her mind broadened, and set free from 
prejudice by an outlook upon public affairs, she might do 
inestimable service in the world. It is by no means an 
anomaly that the best political economist of the age is also 
the foremost advocate of the political enfranchisement of 
Avoman.” 

“ It has sometimes seemed to me that Christianity itself 
waited to receive its grandest development at the hands 
of emancipated woman,” said Reba. “Its sole essential 
elements are love and faith, and so long as masculine 
influences control the world, these can never be perfectly 
asserted and made operative. But it is the nature of 
woman to love and to trust. Whenever, therefore, the 
influence of women predominates in the world’s affairs, 
Christianity will find its earthly home scarcely less con- 
genial than its heavenly one.” 

“Ah ! Reba, humanity is the flower of the ages, of which 
the calyx is formed first, and holds, in long and dark 
imprisonment, its inmost charm. But it is destined at 
last to part its bonds under the pressure of the inward 
expansion, and hold up to the Sun of the Universe the 
ineffable beauty of the perfected blossom. In this belief 
only, can the age-long tyranny of man, the deep, unspeakable 
agony of women, from the creation till these later times, 
be justified as the dispensation of a righteous God. The 
bitter tears of subjection, the heart-throes of anguish, borne 
in silence, concealed from all the world, were the needed 
dew to water hidden virtues; the proper nourishment for 
that divine germ which, in the fullness of time, should burst 
forth, the crowning joy, and grace, and glory of the world.” 

The remark touched a sensitive chord in Reba’s heart, 
and impelled her, as deep feeling always did, to silence. 

The new bent of Mrs. Darrell’s life was not long in 
getting noised abroad. Of course she met, as she had 
expected to meet, opposition from various quarters; some 


392 


A woman’s secret. 


of it amusing, and some touching the deeper chord of sad- 
ness. Among others, Mr. Linscott was seriously shocked. 
The county paper was published in Wyndham, and a 
vigorous article in it, on the duty of woman toward 
reform, which he was certain could be attributed to no 
other pen than Mrs. Darrell’s, irritated him so much, that 
he harnessed his horse at once, and drove over to Wynd- 
ham. He commenced his argument with Mrs. Darrell, by 
assuring her of the deep respect he entertained for her, a 
respect fortified by her years, her capacities, her position 
in the world ; and of the great grief which her recent 
action had caused him. 

Laura listened to him patiently, plead an imposition of 
conscience as her main defense, and received, in return, 
the charge of an ofiTense against the proprieties. 

“My dear cousin,” said Mr. Linscott, emphatically, “it 
is not for ladies to lift swine out of the mire.” 

“ Mr. Linscott,” was Laura’s firm reply, “ if so many 
women were not compelled to live with the swine, in the 
mire, the case might be different. As it is, I do not see 
how any woman of leisure and capacity can possibly 
escape the responsibility of doing what she can, be it 
more or less toward crying out, that there is a mire, and 
setting forward the work of releasing its millions of willing 
and unwilling victims. For my own part, I do not in the 
least fear but what, if my hands go into the work pure, 
they will come out of it pure. There is a vileness which 
no woman can touch without being contaminated ; but it 
is one which enters into the heart, not one which the pure 
heart goes out to overcome.” 

But Mr. Linscott was hopelessly fossilized. He had so 
long believed in the absolute inferiority of woman and her 
rightful subjection to the will, or avarice, or lust, or what- 
ever else might happen to be the ruling principle of the 
man; had for so many years failed to see the breadth and 


A woman’s secret. 


393 


scope of that manliness which is greater than kingliness, 
and to which the heart and understanding of woman are 
ever so truly and so gladly loyal, that the new direction of 
things seemed altogether wrong to him. He could not 
comprehend it. 

“ I have always thought, cousin Laura,” he said, vaguely, 
“ that you were a happy wife.” 

“ I have had my own trials,” was Laura’s reply, “ as all 
women have, and all men also; but I have been in the main 
most happy in my domestic relations. The best strength 
in my arm and heart, to-day, next to the inherent strength 
of a great, good cause, is drawn from my husband’s loving 
sympathy and companionship. He is to me as base to 
pinnacle; and no womanhood can be firm and noble, and 
point with steady truth to heaven, that is not in some way 
supported by a broad, solid, truth-loving and truth-living 
manhood. That is why, Mr. Linscott, I would have every 
true man and true woman cry out against the errors and 
vices which, handed down from remote ages, to-day 
so restrict and stultify the growth of the race. I would 
have the free spirits of all Christendom band themselves 
together, to secure for the race a wise, strong, pure man- 
hood, and a tender, loving, pure womanhood ; and until 
each and every Christian is willing so to labor, according 
to his opportunities and abilities, I do not see how he can 
consistently pray, “Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, 
on earth as it is in heaven!’” 

Mr. Linscott turned away with a heavy heart, to mourn 
over the degeneracy and willfulness of the present evil 
times ; to declare that the world grew worse with every 
generation, forgetting the fact, that year by year it is 
drawing nearer to that glorious time foretold from the 
beginning, when all shall know the Lord, from the least to 
the greatest; and how can we ‘know the Father,’ except 
we ‘do His will?’ ” 


394 


A woman’s secret. 


XXXVIII. 

OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

Mr. Linscott was married early in June. At the last 
moment, Miss Ridalhuber succeeded in convincing him 
that his health was suffering from excessive activity in his 
pastorate, and that a week at the Springs was the only 
thing which would restore him. By which means her 
prediction was verified, and they did go to Saratoga on 
their wedding tour. 

It was quite late in the month before they returned to 
Jericho. The event reminded Mrs. Darrell of “the duty 
she owed to society which, now-a-days, has come to 
mean, not justice, nor mercy, nor yet hospitality, but is 
all summed up in the operation of giving a great party. 
Therefore, the Darrell mansion was astir with prepara- 
tion. Cards were issued by hundreds ; refreshments were 
provided on a grand scale ; the whole house was put in 
readiness for invasion, and throughout the region round- 
about, dress-making assumed the form of an epidemic. 

The long expected day at length arrived. Rebecca had 
remained at home, to assist in the final preparations, and 
at dusk, leaving the wide suite of reception rooms lying in 
fresh, cool and flower-scented readiness, waiting only for 
lights to emblazon their silence and elegant repose, she 
went into the dining-room to get a cup of coffee, intending 
thereafter to retire to her own room for an hour’s rest, 
before dressing. 

All day there had been a stir of anticipation, partly 
pleasant, partly painful, in Reba’s mind. She knew that 
Mr. Gladstone had been invited, and had written to say 
that he should come, if it were possible. She had received. 


A woman’s secret. 


396 


as yet, no news of his arrival in the town, but there was an 
afternoon train ; and, spite of herself, when she had heard 
the distant whistle, which announced it, her hands had 
faltered, and the flowers she was arranging had well nigh 
slipped from her grasp. But the occupation of the day 
had heljjed to preserve her mental balance. With this 
suspense and anxiety deepening every moment upon her, 
she dreaded to be alone. “Unless I can calm myself 
now,” she said, “how can I meet him in the face of all 
these people, and maintain the proper composure.” Every 
moment, her chances for getting through the evening 
creditably, and without attracting attention, seemed to 
grow fainter. 

As she stood sipping her coffee, the doctor entered the 
room. His face was very grave, but it nevertheless 
cheered her. That grand, solid, substantial manhood 
carried reassurance in its very atmosphere. After a few 
minutes’ chat, he said, in his kindest manner: 

“ I was down town to see the train come in, this after- 
noon. I met a friend of yours there.” 

Reba turned very pale, and grasped the back of a chair 
for support. 

“ It isn’t worth while to get excited, Rebecca,” said the 
doctor, slowly. “ Mr. Gladstone has come home, and will 
be here to-night. His brother, Peyton Clavering, he calls 
himself now, will be with him, I suppose. I saw them 
both, and heard Mr. Darrell ask Clavering to come. It 
isn’t worth while to get excited about these things. We 
shall get through the party well enough. You look tired 
and nervous. You must take a few drops; I’ll send some 
up to -your room ; they’re simple, they won’t hurt you ; and 
you must keep a stiff upper lip, Rebecca; keep — a — stiff 
iipper — lip. There won’t be any trouble. I shall be there. 
I shall be there.’''' 

When Reba heard the name of Peyton Clavering, her 


396 


A woman’s secret. 


head swam, and the earth seemed to be slipping from 
under her feet. But the doctor’s steady voice exercised 
a magnetic power over her, and by the time he had finished 
speaking, she was able to falter a few grateful words, to 
which her eyes added a mute emphasis. 

The doctor took her outstretched hand, and pressed it 
gravely, and then walked away with a deep, deep sorrow- 
fulness at his heart. 

“ What is to be done,” he said to himself, “ I don’t know. 
Clavering is a man, and Rebecca is a woman ; the little 
world of Wyndham, like the great world outside of it, will 
uphold him in crime, and frown upon her in misfortune. 
It isn’t right, but that is the way of the'world ; the — way 
of — the — world.” 

It would be useless to try to analyze Reba’s feelings for 
the next hour. For a time it seemed to her that she could 
never face the world again ; that life, in the future, was 
wrung dry, for her, of every drop of joy ; that only death 
could bring that sweet release from pain, which was all the 
boon she craved. How the soul struggles through such 
crises, only God knows. Perhaps it is not the soul which 
frees itself from those depths, fathomless to all human 
measurement, but divine strength which bears it safely on. 
Somehow, at the last moment, Reba came to feel this, to 
trust again the Unseen Arm; to see, in some dim, blind 
way, the littleness of our earthly trials, as compared with 
infinite strength and wisdom. 

“ Peyton Clavering is only a man,” she said. “My 
father is God, and I will trust Him yet.” 

She dressed herself deliberately, and with an unconscious 
purpose of pleasing. Perhaps she herself could not have 
told whether it was the melting eye of love, or the cool, 
critical glance of disdain which foreshadowed itself most 
clearly to her mind, and proved her most efiectual stimu- 
lant. Certainly, when she had shaken out the folds of a 


A woman’s secret. 


397 


lovely white grenadine, over which floated a scarf of finely 
wrought black lace, and twined a wreath of blue convol- 
volus in her hair, and taken in her hand her lace pocket- 
handkerchief and the exquisite bouquet which the doctor 
had gallantly sent to her room, she had never, even in the 
palmy days of her youth, looked more sweetly. 

When she reached the drawing-rooms, the guests had 
already begun to assemble ; and, at Mrs. Darrell’s request, 
she assisted in receiving them. She had a presentiment, 
strengthened, perhaps, by knowledge long ago acquired, 
that the guests whom she awaited with so much anxiety, 
would be late ; and at ten o’clock, when the arrivals were 
getting few and irregular, she withdrew into the shadow 
of a bay window, where she could get a waft of out-door 
air, and divest herself of all traces of heat and agitation. 
Perhaps, too, she had selected that spot for her retirement, 
because it afforded her a glimpse of the hall, and an oppor- 
tunity to guard against surprise. She had not long to 
wait. For some reason she missed the moment of entrance, 
and heard first the low murmur which announced the 
appearance of Mr. Gladstone. As she looked up, the two 
gentlemen, both tall, handsome, distinguished; the one 
fair, with a frank, open countenance, the other dark, with 
an eye lustrous and piercing ; the one in attire, simply a 
well dressed gentleman, the other a faultlessly elegant man 
of the world, advanced up the room to meet their hostess. 

It was to Reba a moment of curious sensations ; but, 
thanks to the doctor’s warning, and perhaps, in a smaller 
degree, to the potent virtue of the drops, she was able not 
only to restrain all external manifestations of them, but 
in a dazed way to note the appearance of those around 
her. Mr. Clavering produced, as he always did, with that 
handsome face and courtly bearing, a decided impression. 
The younger portion of the party seemed quite over- 
powered by his presence, but Reba felt certain that among 


898 


A woman’s secret. 


the elders she could distinguish a slight reserve of manner, 
as if certain old prejudices existed in their minds not easily- 
forgotten, and which even this imposing man of the world 
might find it difficult to overcome. More than ever was 
she convinced of this, when, having paid the customary- 
respect to Mrs. Darrell, they turned away to greet old 
acquaintances. Mr. Gladstone was met everywhere with 
the open hand and hearty welcome; for his brother there 
was an abatement of cordiality and a reticence of manner 
which he could not fail to perceive. But, ajDparently, this 
did not in the least disconcert him. He was very quiet 
and exceedingly well-bred, there was no doubting that; 
and in his secret heart felt that with such resources as he 
always had at command, the prejudices of these simple 
provincial people were matters for*his scorn rather than 
his serious regret. Still, if he was to settle in Wyndham, 
as he now intended to do, it might be well enough to show 
the “best society” of the place how easily he could disarm 
them. He was, of course, speedily presented to Mrs. 
Linscott. In an instant he felt his footing secure under 
him. A few minutes’ chat with her, revealed to her prac- 
ticed eye his superior accomplishments of mind and person, 
and the immense social prestige which he must wield wher- 
ever he moved. Mr. Linscott, watching the protracted 
conversation, grew a shade uneasy. 

“My dear,” he said, as he drew her away under pretense 
of introducing an old friend whom she had not yet met, 
“my dear, Mr. Clavering is all very well as an acquaintance, 
but there are some sad stories afloat about him. I should 
be sorry to see you cultivate him.” 

The bride looked up into the adoring face of her husband 
and murmured, with such a tender grace, 

“ ‘ Alas for the rarity 
Of Christian charity 
Under the sun.' 


A woman’s secret. 


399 


“If such a charming man as Mr. Olavering, and so au 
fait to the best society, is not amenable to Christian 
mercy, I cannot imagine who would be. All men, but you, 
are liable to little lapses, you know.” 

Whether the shade of Thomas Hood would have relished 
that quotation, I cannot say; but Mr. Linscott was van- 
quished, and before the evening was over, his submissive 
wife was hanging on Mr. Clavering’s arm, listening with 
evident delight to his honeyed speeches. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Clavering, quite satisfied with his success 
in that quarter, had already singled out the next victim of 
his ambitious social designs. This was the stout dowager 
of one of the oldest and most respectable families in the 
county. Five minutes of respectful compliment, and charm- 
ingly ready memories of her early triumphs in society, and 
admiration of her daughters — present this evening, and 
quite radiant to their mother’s eyes in back hair and pearl 
powder and glass beads — fastened her to his chariot 
wheels, and he already felt his triumph secure. 

“As for this bevy of young girls,” he inly said, “ once 1 
get among them, the only danger will be that I shall be 
crushed by their attentions. But, ye gods! who is that in 
the white grenadine, yonder?” 

“He stepped back into the shadow, and surveyed Reba 
long and critically. 

“Humph!” he said, one must move cautiously.” 

Appealing to his friend, the dowager, he asked : 

“ Can you inform me, madam, who is that young woman 
in white, just opposite? I don’t recollect to have seen her 
in Wyndham before.” 

“ That ; ah ! that is Miss Reba March, a great friend of 
Mrs. Darrell; she lives in the family. It is strange you 
hav’n’t been introduced.” 

“A relative of Mrs. Darrell, did I understand you?” 

“Oh, no, not in the least; quite a stranger; indeed, 


400 


A woman’s secret. 


between ourselves, too much of a stranger, some of us 
thought at first, since nobody knows anything whatever 
of hei* antecedents. But Mrs. Darrell was very deter^ 
mined, and we’ve all been forced to give way; she is really 
quite popular in society.” 

How much more the dowager might have said will never 
be known, for at this moment the doctor, who had not been 
an uninterested observer of Mr. Clavering’s progress, ad- 
vanced to speak to him, and interrupted the conversation. 

Mr. Clavering replied to the doctor’s cool greeting with 
rather more than his usual impressment. He remembered 
the doctor as one of the powers of Wyndham, and had, 
besides, some personal reason for respecting him; but, 
after the first few minutes’ chat, he could not resist the 
temptation of going back to the subject which just now 
engrossed him. If anybody knew anything about this 
woman it would certainly be the doctor. 

“This young prot%^ of Mrs. Darrell’s, of whom I was 
just speaking to Mrs. Graves, is very interesting. I think 
Mrs. Graves said she was a relative.” 

“No,” said the doctor, in his emphatic way, “ she is not 
a relative, but she is a person whom we respect — whom we 
very micch respect. She has been of great assistance to 
Mrs. Darrell, and Laura always expects her to be treated 
as her best friend. We — don’t— allow — anybody — to — 
slight — Rebecca.’’’’ 

“ Thank you,” said Mr. Clavering, gayly, “for putting me 
on my guard. But, doctor, really, your enthusiasm about 
this young lady has a suspicious look. You didn’t use to 
favor the young ladies of my time with such emphatic 
praise.” 

“ The young ladies of your time were not very different 
from the majority of young ladies at this time, except, 
perhaps, in the matter of back hair. There is a great rage 
for back hair just now.” 


A woman’s secret. 


401 


“The fashions now-a-days do certainly provoke the 
suspicion that the ladies carry more on the outside of 
their heads than on the inside. The effect, on an exile 
like myself coming suddenly upon them, is rather 
appalling.” 

“Well,” said the doctor, “there may be a doubt whether 
there isn’t as much brains in back hair, as there is character 
in a rattan cane, or religion in a white neckcloth. There 
may be a question about it, I think.” 

“Really, doctor, your devotion to the fair sex certainly 
is suspicious. I must think that this unknown is exercis- 
ing a more potent influence over you than any of her peers 
have been able to do.” 

“Rebecca has good sense,” said the doctor. “She isn’t 
over eager to follow the fashions, especially if they are 
ridiculous ones. It is not only good sense, but it is 
womanly delicacy that makes her averse to startling effects 
in dress. It seems to me that real delicacy is not so much 
a female trait as it used to be.” 

“Very likely not,” said Mr. Clavering, indifferently. 

The doctor walked away, leaving precisely the impres- 
sion upon Mr. Clavering’s mind which he had designed to 
do. 

“It is really serious with the doctor,” thought Clavering. 
“I should be sorry to disarrange any of his little plans, 
but if I find this old town as slow as it used to be, I may 
be obliged to enforce a prior claim to the property. What 
a cool way the little sinner has of going about the rooms 
without seeing me. I wonder if she thinks I am always 
to be ignored in that way. If she provokes me too much, 
I may let the light in on the doctor rather sooner than 
would tally with her plans. AH in good time. Let us be 
circumspect.” 

A half-dozen young ladies were grouped around the 
piano, and the musical display of the evening was well 
R2 


402 


A -woman’s secret. 


under way. There was a little flutter among this group 
when, during a pause in the music, Mr. Clavering 
approached them. Women are falsely accused by meu 
who see only the surface of things, of preferring the 
society of libertines. The truth is, that women do 
infinitely prefer the society of men who understand them, 
and who use a knowledge of their accessible points with 
tact and skill. In the present state of society, men of 
this description mostly are loose and immoral in their 
lives, because men are so constituted that they must see 
some very obvious interest to be subserved, before they 
will devote themselves in just this self-forgetting way to 
women. Therefore, it often happens that the selfish 
seeker after unlawful pleasure is the man most pleasing 
to unreflecting women. This was especially true of a 
man so accomplished as Mr. Clavering. He had graces 
and artifices at his command sufficient to turn the heads 
of nineteen out of twenty of the girls he met. In provin- 
cial Wyndham he would scarcely have thought it worth 
his while to exercise these charms, if he had not known, 
what those good men who belittle female infiuence are 
too stupid to reflect upon, or, perhaps, too self-confident 
to care for, that each one of these young women might be 
of use to him in establishing himself in the good graces 
of the Wyndhamites. “Let me have the women of the 
town in my favor,” was the sentiment of this man of 
exj)erience, “ and I can afibrd to snap my fingers in the 
faces of the men.” And so shining out in his most 
attractive luster, he was not long in revealing himself as 
a hero to the eyes of these girls. He moved among them 
so fearlessly; he had such deft ways of turning music 
leaves, and arranging drapery; he looked into each 
separate young lady’s eyes with a glance so delicately 
expressive of consciously superior knowledge, yet, at the 
same time, of chivalrous admiration and respect. If a 


A woman’s secret. 


403 


young performer were timid, he smoothed all her little 
difficulties with' an easy grace, which at once inspired her 
with confidence and made her feel eternally grateful to 
him ; if another were confident, he shared her assurance 
and bowed to her with a practiced air of gallantry and 
savoir faire that was a compliment in itself. It was 
small wonder that Mr. Clavering was a lion in society. 

Presently some one called on Miss March to sing. Mr. 
Clavering’s eye followed the call with deep interest. Reba 
was perfectly aware of the situation at the piano, and of 
the trial which awaited her if she responded to the invita- 
tion. For a moment she grew a little pale, and hesitated. 
Mr. Clavering’s eye sparkled with triumph, and he stepped 
forward with an audacity quite easy to him, and was 
about to offer to conduct her to the instrument. He was 
a moment too late. The doctor was bowing before her 
with offered arm. Reba looked up, gratefully, and saw in 
the doctor’s eye that it was wisdom for her to overcome 
her fears. With that stately column of strength beside 
her, it was not so very difficult to do; and when the 
doctor, with a good deal more than his usual gallantry of 
bearing, had seated her at the piano, and stood beside her 
ready to turn the music, she felt perfectly self-possessed, 
and sang with a clear and steady voice. 

Mr. Clavering’s quick eye took in at a glance the deepest 
meaning of the scene. He was enraged at any power 
which should enable this delicate woman, whoso whole 
destiny had once been in his hands to make or to mar, 
even while he knew that she held the inner fortress of her 
soul impregnably against him, to face him with even an 
assumed independence of his will. He knew what this 
thing called human justice is. He knew that, while he 
had committed against her the basest sin, and that with 
the most aggravating concomitants, and her whole life had 
been pure of any crime against the laws of God or man, 


404 


A woman’s secret. 


it was still his manly prerogative to face the exposition 
of these facts with a cool, satanic triumph, and her 
womanly doom to be filled with inefiable terror and 
dismay. He gnashed his teeth to feel that even for this 
fleeting moment she should dare look a disagreement to 
these conditions. The song was not finished before his 
resolution was taken. 

As she struck the final chords, he laid his white hands 
together and gallantly applauded. 

“Miss March,” he said, with his most deferential air, 
“your voice, charming as it is in ballads, has still, I per- 
ceive, a wider compass. I don’t doubt you sing opera?” 

She met his eye with cool composure, and slightly bowed 
her head. He held the music of '‘^Rohert^ toi que faimey^ 
in his hand. 

“May I beg that you will favor us?” he asked as he 
arranged the music on the rack. He would also have 
superseded the doctor, but that the latter would by no 
means be set aside at this stage of the game. A quiet 
glance from Reba’s eyes had warned him to keep his 
place, and he would have done so against the charge of a 
column of cavaliy. 

Mr. Gladstone, who had been seeking vainly all the 
evening a word aside with Reba, had been attracted by 
the sound of her voice; but seeing what was to come, and 
dreading the power of such music over his excited nerves, 
he stepped out at a side window, that opened on the piazza, 
to quaff unseen his cup of mingled joy and pain. 

Reba’s fingers faltered slightly as she played the prelude. 
Too many old associations were connected with those 
notes, not to shake, in a measure, her composure. But 
her danger made her desperate, and when she struck the 
first vocal note, her voice had a sustained power and 
mellowness which surprised herself. She had not been 
carried back so forcibly to that old time for naught. The 


A woman’s secret. 


405 


golden quiver of melody which she had dropped there 
years ago, she picked up again this night, and sang as she 
had never sung before in Wyndham. There had been 
a murmur of talk as she commenced. It was quickly 
silenced. To the tender, imploring strains of the opening, 
succeeded brilliant roulades, passionate cadenzas, which 
were received with rapt attention, bated breath, which 
assured Peyton Clavering that he had simply roused this 
woman’s spirit and paved the way for her triumph, instead 
of humbling her as he had hoped to do. When she fin- 
ished, there was silence, and then a spontaneous murmur 
of applause. 

“Reba,” exclaimed Mr. Linscott, “how have you kept 
that imprisoned angel silent all these years. I did not 
dream you had such power of song.” 

She smiled, her face a little pale, but her eyes sparkling. 
She was strong now, and the doctor knew that he might 
safely retire. 

Mr. Clavering saw and seized the opportunity. He had 
yet one shaft unspent. 

“Miss March,” he said, “there is a little Moorish song 
which I should like to hear you sing, if you are acquainted 
with it. It is a duet, the air of singular beauty, and the 
bass, which I will try to furnish in some imperfect fashion, 
is quite subservient to it.” 

He mentioned a song full of passion, and tenderness, 
which he had taught her years ago, and into which she 
knew he would throw all the fire and pathos which he 
could command; but she did not flinch. She felt a calm- 
ness and strength which she herself did not understand. 
“ He may grind me to powder to-morrow, if he chooses,” 
was her thought, “but to-night he shall know that I am no 
longer his slave.” 

She sang the song with him. Her execution was pt 
fectly artistic; the sentiment was fully expressed, but 


406 


A woman’s secret. 


nowhere exaggerated; and not once, from first to last, 
did her tones falter. All the persuasive eloquence of his 
voice failed utterly to move her, and he knew that it failed. 
At the close of the song, she rose with the most perfect 
and graceful composure, and meeting Mr. Clavering’s 
glittering eye with a glance as cool and firm as if no 
memory of passionate yesterdays was seething in her 
brain, she stepped aside among the group at the opposite 
end of the piano. 

At that moment there was a general movement toward 
the supper room, which frustrated Reba’s design of stealing 
out doors for a breath of fresh air, and a quiet interlude 
to the troubled emotions of the evening. The honors of 
the coffee-urn had been assigned to her; but, after the 
cups had been filled for the first time, she resigned her 
position on plea of fatigue, and crossing the hall and the 
now deserted parlors, stepped out upon the piazza. The 
dining-room, with its hum and stir, was quite upon the other 
side of the house, and here, among the glistening shrubbery, 
the night lay still, and starry, and lucent. Wafts of sweet 
odors, from the flowers beyond, came up before the dew- 
laden breeze, and in and out, among the roses and honey- 
suckles, the fire-flies came and went with joyous sparkle. 

Reba stood for a moment just outside the window, her 
silver drapery glistening faintly in the light which streamed 
out from the brilliant scene within; then, gathering her 
lace scarf about her, she commenced walking up and down. 
As she passed one of the heavy, leaf-draped pillars, a figure 
emerged from the shadow, and a hand caught hers. She 
knew instinctively what hand it was, but she shrank from 
it with a sudden exclamation. 

“ There is then no fire left in the old ashes ? ” said Mr. 
Gladstone, sadly. 

Reba looked up into his face, and spoke with passionate 
energy : 


A woman’s secret. 


407 


“ I will answer you that a hundred years hence, when 
time and circumstance, and earth itself shall be beneath 
our feet.” 

He took her hand and drew her nearer; but she shrank 
from him. 

“ Reba,” he said, “ I have been jealous all the evening 
of the bright look on your face; the winged arrows of your 
voice have pierced me through and through. I could not 
have sung those passion-freighted strains so firmly. But 
your face is very wan and sad now. I watched you as 
you stood yonder in the light, and I know your heart 
aches. Will you rest it here on mine ? ” 

“ Ho, Mr. Gladstone, I will not.” 

“Reba, why refuse your own? I’ve touched no woman’s 
hand since I held yours last. My lips keep your kiss sacred 
still. If you will not be my wife, must you still refuse my 
tenderest, purest, most devoted care ?” 

“Mr. Gladstone, I am no worker of miracles, that I can 
handle fire and not be burned. I do not misjudge you ; I 
know that you would be my friend, my comforter, my 
helper ; but it can never be.” 

“ It .hurts me so, my darling, for you are and always 
will be my darling, to see your pale, wan face, and feel 
that I cannot chase away the wanness and the pallor, and 
win back the light, the dew, the smiling curves again.” 

They stood for a moment, in silence, and a tear fell on 
his hand. When he spoke again, his voice had a different 
accent. 

“Reba,” he said, “one thing I ask, not as a favor, but as 
a right. Nothing which I could suffer could equal this 
torture of blind conjecture and surmise. Since we are 
hopelessly parted, and there is no crumb of comfort left 
for us, not even this poor show of friendliness possible to 
our two eager hearts, I must know the worst. You have 
no right any longer to conceal it.” 


408 


A woman’s secret. 


She covered her face with her hands, and remained silent 
for a moment, stifling a pain he could not comprehend. 

“ Very well,” she said, “ God overrules all things. Come 
to me to-morrow evening, at eight o’clock, and I will tell 
you all.” 

“Reba, I have not pained you unnecessarily, have I? 
You don’t feel that I am arbitrary and unreasonable?” 

“No; oh, no. It is quite right;” and then her tears burst 
forth afresh. He would take no denial now ; he drew her 
tenderly to him, held her weeping on his shoulder for a 
moment, kissed her as one might kiss a sobbing babe, 
dried the tears from her cheeks, and then said : 

“ Good night, my little one. Go quietly to your chamber, 
and hide the traces of your tears. Dream pleasant dreams, 
my own. The faith you gave me, when we parted last, I 
bring back to you to-night. God will not suffer love like 
ours always to go unfulfilled. Now that you have promised 
me your whole confidence, I feel already the strength of 
ten men within me. Trust me, there will be some way 
found out of this most painful labyrinth.” 

There were voices in the drawing-room, and lifting her 
tear-stained face to his, for the last farewell, she flipped 
from his embrace, and flitting around to a side door 
gained her room unobserved. 


A woman’s secret. 


409 


XXXIX. 

A SACRIFICE FOE THE PUBLIC GOOD. 

Provincial Wyndham had not reached the metropolitan 
pitch of turning night into day, and as the town clock was 
striking twelve, Abraham Gladstone and Peyton Clavering 
turned their steps homeward from Mrs. Darrell’s. They 
were each, in a different way, inwardly perturbed. Mr. 
Gladstone’s agitation inclined him to silence. Mr. Claver- 
ing, on the contrary, was just in that state of irritation 
which made talking a necessity to him. He was not a 
man of great intellectual caliber, though his attainments 
were certainly creditable. His shining traits were all 
superficial ; there was nothing particularly firm or stable 
about him, except his ambition and his will. To be crossed 
in these points, and that by a woman ; a woman, too, 
whom he had won and worn, and cast aside, was precisely 
the kind of affront which he was most likely to feel, and to 
resent with the inconsiderate zeal of a shallow nature. 

“A very fair entertainment,” he said to his companion, 
“for Wyndham. Decidedly, the Darrells have come up, 
during the last eight years.” 

“Yes, Darrell has managed his business shrewdly, and 
his wife is a woman to grace any circle. A man with such 
a wife naturally grows ambitious.” 

“In the narrow firmament of Wyndham, Mrs. Darrell is 
no doubt a star. She has always borne an unblemished 
reputation, I believe.” 

“ Certainly ; so much so, that your remark sounds 
strangely in Wyndham ears. One would like to know 
what suggested it?” 

“ Oh ! nothing, except that she seems to keep a very 
pretty piece of trumpery about her house. Miss Rebecca 
S 


410 


A woman’s secret. 


March; ha! ha! that is a fine dodge for that old sinner to 
practice.” 

The June midnight lay dense and dark around them ; 
even the fitful fire-fiies had disappeared, and the drooping 
boughs of the great, umbrageous elms under which they 
walked, shut out the stars. It was well. No human eye 
noted the swift flush which passed over Abraham Glad- 
stone’s face, or the quick, resentful gesture of his arm, as 
these cool, sardonic tones grated on his ear. But a second 
thought arrested his hand, and even checked the words 
that would have betrayed him. 

“You know her, then?” he said. 

“Know her? I should think so. She lived with me two 
years as belle amie. She’ll find out that I know her before 
I have done with her.” 

Then was made manifest the crowning glory of the 
masculine organization — its princely strength. There was 
no quivering of the flesh, no weak sinking of the nerves 
with surprise and horror, but, after the momentary shock, 
a calm, lucid comprehension of the facts, and a steady, 
orderly massing of the virile forces to meet them. 

“I should like to hear the whole of that story,” said Mr. 
Gladstone. “ It is early yet for you and me. Let us turn 
in here at my office, and light our cigars, and talk the 
matter over.” 

If there was a harshness and constraint in his voice, Mr. 
Clavering was too preoccupied to notice it. The office was 
a tiny building, standing by itself, at a corner of the road, 
with wild ivy and a Virginia creeper covering its low 
roof, and hanging in festoons over its walls. Mr. Claver- 
ing was nothing loath to the proposition, and they entered 
and struck a light. Mr. Gladstone’s mind was working 
rapidly all that time, though his preoccupation took the 
form, to the eye of his companion, of an eager search after 
matches, and a hospitable arrangement of chairs. 


A WOMAN’S SECRET. 


411 


They were seated at length; Mr. Clavering in an easy 
office chair, with his feet tilted upon the stove, and a 
fragrant Havana between his lips; Mr. Gladstone a little 
back of him, in the shadow, facing his desk, upon which 
were strewn blank forms and writing materials. Clavering 
took out his pocket-flask of brandy, and passed it to his 
companion; but the latter had need of strong nerves, and 
imbibed very lightly; and that entirely for the sake of 
promoting the companionable feeling upon which so much 
depended. Mr. Clavering indulged himself in a liberal 
potation, smacked his lips as if the flavor of it pleased 
him, and set the flask by his side for farther use. 

‘‘The summer after I left Wyndham,” he commenced, 
“I went out to a little village among the Catskills to spend 
a few weeks. The business which originally took me 
there is of no importance; the business I found there is the 
main thing in this story. During the first week of my 
stay, accident brought me acquainted with Miss Granger 
and her pretty niece. The spinster was a prim and starched 
old ironsides; the maiden as demure and captivating as 
one could imagine. She was kept, too, in very strict bonds; 
saw no society, except the few elect and sanctified saints 
with whom her aunt consorted; had no real company, 
except a cracked piano, and a few old books, mostly 
classics, which had been her father’s. As for modern 
works of fiction, and the like, the old lady would as soon 
have permitted her to eat strychnine as to read them. 
The whole arrangement took my fancy at once. It was 
just the kind of sport that suited me, to break that old 
dragon’s chains and let the pretty warbler go free. I had 
to manage, as you may imagine, with a good deal of 
dexterity. The spinster was wary, the maiden shy; but 
by going to church regularly, putting on a long face, and 
sufieriilg her to lend me Alleyne’s Alarm, I got around the 
first, and obtained permission to call on the lady-bird. 


412 


A woman’s secret. 


She has a fine voice, as yoii know; but she had known 
nothing of true culture at that time. I brought her music 
and trained her voice, and flattered her besides, with tell- 
ing her that she ought to have Italian masters. There 
were moonlight walks and serenades, and much reading of 
sentimental poetry. All these things tell, you know, on 
an unsophisticated maiden ; and in a month’s time I had 
taught the little girl her first lesson in kissing, and had 
won her promise to marry me.” 

Mr. Clavering paused, removed his cigar, ofiered the 
brandy flask to his companion, who declined it, and then 
took a strong and deep potation himself. The liquor he 
had already drunk was by this time exercising a mollifying 
influence upon his temper; and together with the pleasant 
memories which his story called up, gave an exceeding 
glibness to his tongue. 

“The worst was, that the maiden continued shy. Hot 
that she was not in love. I fancy there are very few 
women who, under the circumstances, would not have felt 
the influence of such fascinations as I could bring to bear. 
But she was one of a thousand. Her father had been a 
Presbyterian clergyman of Puritan ancestry, her mother a 
Quakeress; and the daughter had inherited the demure 
ways of the one and the stubborn sentiments of the other. 
When a woman is in love, there is always some way to be 
found of managing her; this one was much too prudish to 
be won by any easy method, but, then, she was also much 
too pretty and too infatuated to be abandoned at this stage 
of the game. The difficulty, too, enhanced the zeal of the 
enterprise. My time was mostly on my hands then, and 
I lingered in the town a good deal longer than I first 
intended. The old lady at last began to be suspicious, but 
it was too late in the day. There was little love between 
her and her niece, and Emily was very much prepossessed 
in my favor. Of course, when the old lady began to 


A woman’s secret. 


413 


l)erisecute her, Em clung to me with all the more fervor. I 
thought then the time had really come to strike a blow, 
but it was of no use. I dropped a casual word one even- 
ing to try her, and she blazed out in such a way, that I 
knew if I persisted she would forbid me the house, if her 
heart broke the next minute. I think my blood was never 
fairly up till then; but from that moment I swore to possess 
her. There was only one dodge that was certain to be 
effectual, and that was to propose a private marriage, and 
so get her to New York with me. She was a little averse 
even to this; but, by gentleness and fervent protestations, 
I finally won her consent. Then I sent at once to New 
York for Malbranche, and, under pretense of not being able 
to trust the clergymen of the town, I got her to drive over 
to the next village, where, of course, Malbranche met us, 
in a black coat and white neckcloth, and the thing was 
done.” 

Mr. Gladstone edged around more into the shadow, and 
Clavering, who sat turned a quarter from him, could not 
see how nervously his fingers worked with the pens and 
bits of papers before him. He was too well trained in his 
profession to interrupt a witness who was telling his story 
in an unexceptionable manner; but just here he interposed 
a question: 

“I suppose you told her afterwards?” 

“Egad, no; the best of the story is yet to come. That 
woman was always a puzzle to me. She’s not at all like 
the common run. After I had married her — ahem! I natur- 
ally expected she would turn a cold shoulder on the propri- 
eties; but, in the whole two years I kept her, I never saw a 
day when I felt it safe to tell her that she was not my wife. 
She would have left me in an instant, and it did not suit 
me to lose her in that way. It was expensive living in 
New York — that was my excuse, you understand — so I 
rented a little cottage up the river, and put her at house- 


414 


A woman’s secret. 


keeping, to which she took with the true woman instinct. 
I only visited her once a week, more or less, as I felt 
inclined. I intimated to her that, being away so much, I 
should hardly desire her to see a great deal of 'company, 
and that was sufficient. She snubbed every soul that 
called on her. I’ve seen women in love, in my time, not 
a few; but such a little fool as she was, you seldom come 
across. Why, just before we left her home, she came to 
me one day and brought me some papers ; they were 
vouchers for her little portion — about two thousand 
dollars — which an old uncle of her mother had left to 
Emily after her mother’s death, as a sort of expiation 
for the way the whole family had treated her when she 
married out of the society. It was just so with every- 
thing. She trusted me to the last degree. Malbranche 
had taken a fancy to her from the first, and went up there 
once during my absence, determined to undeceive her and 
try on the strength of that act of friendship to come in 
himself for her favor; but it was useless. Her indignation 
actually frightened him from his purpose. To have the 
keeping of such a woman as that, was, as you may imagine, 
quite a distinction among the fellows of our set. I invited 
two or three of them occasionally out to see her. I had 
taken great pains with her voice, and she sang them into 
the seventh heaven of admiration. Now and then, too, 
I took her into town to an opera, or a good theatrical 
performance; I bought her books, and, in short, made a 
lady of her,” 

“I should imagine you might have gotten quite in love 
yourself,” said Mr. Gladstone. 

“ In love ? Yes ; for the first month I was rather taken. 
After that, her style bored me ; but I kept the thing up 
just because there were half a dozen fellows dying of 
envy, and ready any minute to take her off* my hands. 
She used to think sometimes that I was not very ardent, 


A woman’s secret. 


415 


and cry about it, but it never made any difference with 
her. She would have gone to the death with me till the 
last. After a while she grew mysterious and happy, and 
at last confided to me that she was enciente. That finished 
the business for me, and from that time I was bored to 
death with her; but I would not give her up, just because 
Malbranche was so dead in love with her.” 

Mr. Gladstone’s face was very pale, and his voice was 
so husky that he hardly dared to ask, 

“What did you do with her, when you left for South 
America?” 

“Oh! I was hard up, and Malbranche had, one way or 
another, gotten my I. O. U.’s for a thousand dollars. For 
the promise of her, he burnt the notes before my eyes.” 

The blood was running hotter and hotter in Mr. Glad- 
stone’s veins, but he had not been made a man, to make 
himself a fool; he controlled himself, even forced himself 
to speak in a voice as natural as he could command. 

“I think you mentioned that you had two thousand 
dollars or so, of her money?” 

“ Oh! that was all gone long before. I lost that ^XicartL 
As I was saying, I turned her over to Malbranche, or 
promised to. There was a pretty scene when I told her 
of it. I went up there the evening of the day before the 
one on which I was to sail. In the morning, just before I 
left, I told her the whole thing, and explained the arrange- 
ment I had made with Malbranche. She fainted and cried 
and took on, of course, after the way of women. By 
Heaven ! she wouldn’t so much as take my hand to say 
good-by, after she knew it. I heard, afterwards, that she 
was taken sick that day, and on the next her child was 
born.” 

“You don’t know what became of her after that?” 

“Well, I have Malbranche’s word for what happened. 
A more enraged man never lived than he was when he 


416 


A woman’s secret. 


wrote me about it, and I didn’t blame him. Counting 
the thousand he as good as paid me, that woman cost 
him fifteen hundred dollars clear cash, before she left him ; 
and for that money he never got so much as the chance 
to lay his little finger on her. You see, she was so affected 
by my going away, that she was sick in her bed three 
months, and during all the time he paid her bills, waiting 
for her to recover. At last she was able to get about the 
house; then he went to see her. They had a stormy time 
of it, but the upshot of it was, that she utterly refused to 
have anything to do with him. It ran along that way 
three or four weeks, till he found that he might as well 
give up the straight course, and try a roundabout one. 
That is the way women compel men to practice villainy 
on them. Malbranche was very honorable, but he couldn’t 
stand everything. He pretended, at last, to be overcome 
by her virtue, but told her that the cottage she had been 
living in was rented to another party, and that she must 
move. She was clearly unable to take care of herself just 
then, and he would take her home to his mother’s, where 
she would be perfectly safe, till she was able to look 
around and find employment. He laid more perjuries on 
his soul than would sink him into the hottest hell — if he 
believed in one, which he don’t — and finally persuaded 
her. Then he thought he was sure of her, for he took 
her straight to old Mother Rosamond, the biggest she- 
devil in all Hew York; with orders to keep her a week, to 
4iide nothing from her concerning the character of the 
house, but to let no man look upon her face. Malbranche’s 
plan was to get rid of the child in that time, and break 
down her spirit, so that she would go with him willingly 
to a better place; for Malbranche meant to treat her well 
and keep her like a lady. But there was where he erred. 
He gave her too much tether, and I wrote him so. Some- 
how, it is a mystery to this day, how, for old Rosamond is 


A woman’s secret. 417 

tlie devil and all, and she had an old hag of a portress, 
an African they called Egypt, who was a perfect tigress; 
but with all their care, that woman did get away from 
them on the second morning, and Malbranche never saw 
her afterwards.” 

Mr. Gladstone drew a long breath, but his face was still 
ghastly pale. There was a silence which it behooved him 
to break. 

“Had she money,” he asked, “with which to take care 
of herself?” 

“Oh! no; but then she had a watch and a few valuable 
trinkets, that had been her mother’s, which she no doubt 
pawned.” 

“You seem to have very little conscience about the 
matter,” said Mr. Gladstone, with bitter emphasis, and a 
rising heat of manner. 

“Oh!” said Clavering, removing his cigar from his 
mouth, and knocking the ashes against his boot, “I settled 
all that long ago. Prostitution is a necessary evil. The 
ranks must be kept full for the safety of society. It may 
as well be I .” 

“Stop! right there,” exclaimed Mr. Gladstone, springing 
to his feet with the stern and wrathful energy of a Roman 
Tribune. “ Say one word more and I’ll choke that stale 
lie down your throat. You have shown yourself a mis- 
creant of the deepest dye ; you shall not now cover 
yourself with the thin disguise of a public benefactor.” 

Clavering turned around, and looked at the flashing eyes 
which scowled at him from under those heavy brows, and 
the tall, strong figure, full of fire and action, with surprise 
not unmixed with cool scorn. He waved his hand depre- 
catingly, the splendid diamond on his little finger flashing 
in the light. 

“ Sit down,” he said, “ sit down ; don’t get excited over 
a little story like this. Why, twenty gentlemen whom 


418 


A woman’s secret. 


you and I both know, might tell you the essential counter- 
part of it.” 

“No, I will not sit down,” said Gladstone. “I know 
too well that the lives of many men might furnish parallel 
cases ; but this concerns a woman whom I love. I shame 
to listen to these brazen boasts of villainy, and think that 
my country’s laws are powerless to avenge such wrongs. 
But, though this hellish iniquity might stalk unabashed 
through all the market places of the world, I thank my God 
that a petty crime, a thing which is, to this damnable 
contrivance of vice, a mere trifling misdemeanor, is still 
a weighty thing enough to let loose upon you the well- 
sharpened fangs of the law.” 

“ Why, brother, you wax excited. What is this woman 
to you ? ” 

“ Simply the woman I love, and whom, please God, I will 
marry; and upon whose face you shall never look again, 
until you meet it at the bar of the Great Judge. 

“ These are brave words, brother, and need strong 
backing.” 

“ They shall have it, too. Never call me brother again. 
For six months that tie has shut my lips. This moment I 
abjure it, and call upon her whose gentle blood created it 
to bless the deed. Listen, Peyton Clavering — thank God, 
you are no Gladstone — Z have now a little story to tell 
yow.” 

“On the 24th of that August in which my father died, 
he made a will, drawn by your hand, in which, after 
bequeathing to me, his legal heir, all his real, and by far 
the greater part of his personal estate, he left to you a 
legacy of two thousand dollars, in consideration of your 
kind attendance upon his last sickness, during the absence 
of his children.” 

Mr. Clavering had thrown away his cigar, and turned 
about in his chair, so as to face his companion. His 


A woman’s secret. 


419 


countenance was a shade paler than common, but quite 
composed. 

“ It is false,” he said, firmly. “ I never drew such a 
will.” 

“ I say nothing which I am not prepared to prove,” 
said Mr. Gladstone. “ That document is now in my 
possession.” 

Clavering started visibly, but still kept the same imper- 
turbable face. 

“ It was witnessed by Joel Ames and Nancy Barrett,” 
he continued. “ When it was finished, my father read it 
over himself, folded it, and deposited it under his pillow, 
waiting to deliver it to the family solicitor, when he should 
arrive; that functionary being then out of town, which was 
the reason that the task had been committed to you. That 
was about three o’clock in the afternoon. He fell into a 
doze then, and leaving Nancy Barrett by his bedside, you 
retired to your own room, where you proceeded to draw 
the form of another will, in which your bequest was 
changed from two thousand to twenty thousand dollars. 
You were sufficiently familiar with my father’s signature 
to counterfeit it with good success ; the plain, round hand 
of Nancy Barrett, also, gave you very little trouble; but 
the crooked chirogi-aphy of Joel was more unmanagi able. 
To surmount this difficulty, you adopted a dangerous 
expedient. Trusting to Joel’s blunt wits, you called him 
into your room, treated him to a glass of cherry mm; 
observed to him that he wrote a singular hand; maaipu- 
lated him with that devilish art which is so natural to you. 
Finally, under pretense of the singularity of his hand, and 
your long acquaintance and friendly feeling, you prevailed 
upon him to give you his autograph in exchange for your 
own. You, of course, provided the sheet of paper upon 
which it was to be written. At the time, Joel was ei iirely 
unsuspicious. Afterward, it occurred to him as sii gular 


420 


A woman’s secret. 


that you should have been particular to have him write 
it near the bottom of a page. It was a good many years 
before his muddy brain cleared up the matter sufficiently 
to make him positively suspicious. In fact, I believe, if 
he had not confided the matter to his wife, I should have 
been ignorant of it to-day ; but, a year ago, he came to 
me, and made a clean breast of the affair. I searched at 
once for the first will, but did not succeed in finding it. 
A day or two before I left for Washington, however, I 
went over to the old place again; then, looking for another 
paper, I bethought myself of that old secretary which 
used to stand in your room. An indiscriminate search 
through it brought me at last upon a drawer, where my 
attention was first attracted by seeing the names of Nancy 
and Joel scribbled unmeaningly over various bits of paper. 
My suspicions were aroused, and a little energy brought 
to light the true will, which, with the unaccountable heed- 
lessness of criminals, you had neglected to destroy, after 
abstracting it from its hiding place, during my father’s 
unconsciousness, and replacing it with the forged docu- 
ment. 

“When Mr. Denbigh, the solicitor, arrived the next 
morning, Joel was in the room, and witnessed the transfer 
of the document to him, and is prepared to swear, that — 
though my father said to him: ‘This is my will, Denbigh. 
Richard made it out, and Joel and Nancy witnessed it. It 
is all right. I’ve remembered Richard in it. I tell you 
so, that nobody need suspect me of being unduly influenced 
by him. He has been good to me, in Abraham’s absence,’ — 
he did not look at the will. You were in the room at the 
time, watching narrowly the whole transaction. What I 
have said, I can prove. You know the state of the public 
feeling in the town, on the subject. Does the prospect of 
having this thing brought up in a court of law look 
pleasing to you?” 


A woman’s secret. 


421 


Clavering’s face was as white as the wall. He rested 
his elbows on the table, and supported his head with his 
hands. 

“Abraham,” he said, at length looking up, “what do 
you propose to do? You cannot get your money back. 
It was spent long ago. Do you wish to bring dishonor 
upon one of your own kin ? ” 

“Yesterday, I did not. Yesterday, my heart was all 
attuned to mercy. To-day^ I would to God I h^d the 
power of meting out to you a tenfold bitterer justice. 
This is what I propose to do : 

“ This paper is a warrant for your arrest. With the 
break of day I shall give it into the hands of Sheriff Jones; 
a man tried and true, through whose fingers never yet a 
criminal escaped. You will take the early train for Hew 
York; Jones will go with you all the way; he will stay 
with you till you get your passage for South America, and 
he will see you on blue water. If, at any time, you look 
as if you desired to falter, he will lay his hand upon you, 
and claim his prisoner.” 

“But, Abraham, I cannot — I swear I will not leave this 
town so suddenly, and without explanation.” 

“Y can make all necessary explanations; and I swear that 
if the light of the sun finds you in the town, you’ll take 
your breakfast in the county jail.” 

Clavering was desperate. He sprang to his feet, and 
drew a revolver; but his excitement made his nerves 
unsteady, and before he could cock it, it was sent whirling 
out of his hand, and struck the wall. Abraham Gladstone 
picked it up coolly, and said : 

“ Dick, it is useless. I hold the balance of power. As 
my mother’s son, I would have shielded you. As that 
woman’s betrayer. I’ll haunt you to your grave. If ever, 
after the rising of the sun, you set your foot in this town; 
if ever, after to-morrow, you show your face in any spot 


422 


A woman’s secret. 


of God’s universe, which the laws of this land can be 
made to reach, and the fact comes to my knowledge; if 
ever, after this moment, your babbling tongue shall speak 
that woman’s name, in such a way that I hear of it, I will 
drag you into daylight and set a brand upon your forehead 
that shall last you as long as Cain’s lasted. Keep out of 
my way, out of sight and sound of me, and you are safe ; 
but that is your only safety.” 

The bad man’s face was haggard. His great black eyes 
and ample ebon locks heightened terribly the palor of his 
aspect. 

“ Abraham,” he said, with bitter, but impotent rage, “ I 
have not money enough to carry me to South America.” 

“Sell your watch and your gew-gaws, then, as you 
compelled that innocent woman to do.” 

There was silence for a few moments. Mr. Gladstone 
looked at his watch; it was three o’clock; the train was 
due in two hours. 

“Come,” he said, “we have no time to be dallying here. 
I shall go to Jones at once, and you may get your baggage 
ready as soon as you like.” 

“You won’t give me a day’s time?” 

“In a day’s time you might do mischief with your foul 
tongue, which I could not undo in a lifetime.” 

“It is hard to have that card in my hand and not be 
allowed to play it. It is hard to go to the dogs for a 
woman like that. Old fellow, I may outlive you.” 

“I shall take care of that, and remember you in my will. 
As long as you draw breath, you’ll have the choice to be 
circumspect, or teach your slender hands the trick of 
breaking stones for the public good.” 

They stepped out into the waning night. Already the 
east was gray, and birds peeped sleepily among the 
branches. Down the fresh June air the rose-scents came 
blowing, striking the pallid senses of the criminal with a 


A woman’s secret. 


423 


sickening sensation, but carrying Abraham Gladstone back 
to the moment when, amid their dewy incense, he had 
parted from the woman he loved. 

“Ah ! I said to her,” he thought, “ God will not let love 
like ours be always unfulfilled.” 

In the rosy light of the morning, Peyton Clavering, with 
SherifiT Jones at his side, stepped on board the train for 
New York. The brothers spoke no farewell; but, instead. 
Clavering hissed into Abraham’s ear : 

“Before you marry that woman, I advise you to find out 
who lielped her to get free from Mother Rosamond, and 
what she did with her brat.” 

It was a Parthian arrow, and it rankled as if it had 
been poisoned. Men require absolute certainty in these 
matters; and investigation, under the circumstances, was 
not a pleasant duty. 

Mr. Gladstone went back to his room at the hotel, and 
succeeded in getting a few hours’ rest. After an unrelished 
breakfast, he sauntered out into the town. The news of 
Mr. Clavering’s departure was already abroad, but he met 
all questions with one answer : 

“Mr. Clavering had received intelligence which made it 
necessary for him to go to New York, and he might return 
to South America.” 

Of course, nobody was satisfied, but since nobody could 
learn anything farther, the talk soon subsided. 

It was late in the afternoon that Abraham was passing 
the doctor’s office, looking moody and troubled. The 
doctor, seeing him from the window, called him in. 

“You look down in the mouth, Gladstone,” he said, after 
a little chat. “It is about this matter of Clavering and 
Rebecca, I reckon.” 

Mr. Gladstone looked up astonished and defiant. He 
was not in a mood to-day to be subjected to the doctor’s 
prying inquisition. 


424 


A woman’s secret. 


“If I am in trouble, sir,” he replied, a little haughtily, 
“ my trouble is my own.” 

“I — don’t — want — to meddle — in your alfairs — for — 
evil,” said the doctor. “I liked your father, and your 
grandfather, Gladstone, and I don’t bear you any ill-will. 
Three or four years ago, I saw Marston in New York, and 
learned from him some things I thought you might like to 
know. Clavering told you part of it, I reckon?” 

“Yes,” said Abraham, resignedly; feeling that if the 
doctor already knew all, there was no more to be said; 
only in his heart he cursed the inquisitiveness which had 
brought him the knowledge. 

“Did he tell you how the girl got away from old 
Rosamond? ” 

“No,” said Abraham, with a little more interest. “Did 
you learn that ? ” 

“ I thought as like as not I knew some things he could 
not tell you. Rebecca is a good woman. It was hard luck 
to fall into Clavering’s hands, but she is a good woman ; 
an innocent woman, for all that I can see, as any other. I 
saw Marston, and I saw Malbranche, and I saw old Rosa- 
mond afterward. I got it all out of them without their 
even suspecting that I was interested in the woman, and 
they all told one story. The girl was duped. She was 
dev-il-ish-ly duped. I — don’t — mean — that — for — swear- 
ing. I mean it for literal fact — devilishly duped! But 
women are women, the world over — ^bad ones and all. 
There was a girl in the house who had had her baby stolen 
from her, just as they meant to steal Rebecca’s baby ; and 
she warned Rebecca, and bribed old Egypt with a glass 
of gin to go out u2)on some errand for her. She drugged 
the gin, and then instructed Rebecca how to unfasten the 
door and get out. It al^came out afterward, for the girl 
boasted of her revenge, after she had left Rosamond’s 
house.” 


A woman’s secret. 


425 


“ And the baby ? ” asked Gladstone. 

The doctor looked down, and twirled his thumbs, and 
whistled — 

“I don’t Tcnow^ but I always suspected that the little 
Catherine I brought from New York, was the baby. Her 
clothes were marked with a ‘ C,’ and I found her the very 
morning that Rebecca got away from old Rosamond. I 
am certain of that. Besides, she had a look like Clavering 
when you thought about it.” 

Mr. Gladstone rose and grasped the doctor’s hand, with 
moist eyes, and a choking in his throat which made speech 
impossible for the minute. 

“I can guess how you feel,” said the doctor. “It isn’t 
best to have any uncertainty in these matters. I never 
said anything about this before, and I shouldn’t have now, 
but I was afraid you’d be going down to New York to ask 
questions, that you’d better not ask. Nobody thinks any- 
thing about it there now. It has all blown over. I 
suspect you sent Clavering off on that old business about 
the will?” 

“How did you know that?” asked Gladstone. 

“Oh! Yankees will guess^^ow. know. I saw through 
the rest of it plain enough, and I supposed that must be 
your handle to get him out of the way. It isn’t any more 
than I expected. I had a conversation with Joel once that 
let a little light into my mind. If he is out of the way for 
good, what’s to hinder your marrying Rebecca?” 

It was said simply, with an innocent uplifting of the 
eyes, that made Abraham smile. 

“Well,” he said, “the last time I talked it over with 
her, she wouldn’t have me. I’m going to see her about it 
again this evening.” 

“That’s right,” said the doctor. '‘'‘That — is — righV* 

S2 


426 


A woman’s secret. 


XL. 

TWO EQUAL SOULS : ONE ROUND, PERFECTED WHOLE. 

The suu shining into her chamber, woke Reba on the 
morning after the party. She had slept soundly, and felt 
unexpectedly refreshed. Looking out upon the broad 
expanse of valley and upland, which stretched away 
before her, rioting in its June luxuriance of waving grain 
and green and fruitful orchard; the blue sky as clear as 
sapphire, and the sunshine golden, like the streets of the 
New Jerusalem, over all — she felt a strong uplifting of 
her soul, which seemed to set at naught the darkness and 
pain of the night before. Her feeling was something 
which she could not at all understand. Reason and logic 
were at fault to account for it, but, there it was, a strong, 
free, buoyant influence in her soul, when all her outward 
circumstances seemed to tend to weakness, and depression, 
and slavery. 

“Well,” she said, “God is good, and never leaves me 
without some grain of comfort. If the world were swept 
free of all evil, and made ready for the millennial morning, 
I should hardly feel lighter of heart than I do. The cloud 
will come soon enough ; let me enjoy the sunshine while I 
may.” 

Bending quietly over her desk in the office, all day, it 
happened that no whisper of the rumors outside, in the 
town, reached her ear. When her Work was done, she 
walked home, and asking Nancy to send a cup of tea to 
her room, did not go down stairs at all, till the door-bell 
rang, and she knew that Mr. Gladstone had come. For 
the last hour she had been thinking steadily of the thing 
she had promised to do, recalling the old scenes, exhuming 
bitter and piercing memories. It was not a cheerful task. 


A woman’s Secret. 


427 


All her soul shrank from it. With the knowledge she had 
of men, she could not be at all certain that she could so 
fulfill her promise as to retain, unimpaired, even the 
respect of her lover. It is excoriating to a woman’s pride 
to know that she has innocently suffered a wrong at the 
hands of a man, which not only deprives her of the sym- 
pathy of her own sex, but of the respect of nien. There 
is an injustice and unnaturalness about the fact, which 
adds the sharpest sting t(Fpain. 

But Mr. Gladstone awaited her below, and there was no 
longer any reason for delay. She went down the stairs, 
and entered his presence, her head drooping like a peni- 
tent, and her bosom heaving with unuttered sighs. She 
felt his arm around her, and her chin lifted for the kiss 
upon her forehead, but she had no courage to look into his 
eyes. She strove to withdraw herself, but the arm still 
held her fast. 

“Reba,” he said, “will you not look at me? My wounded, 
martyred darling, can you not see in my eyes the eternal 
love my soul bears for yOu?” 

She looked up then with surprise and terror. 

“ Oh ! you know it,” she said ; “he has told you.” She 
took his hands in both hers, and strove to free herself. 

“No,” he said, “you shall not take yourself away from 
me. Listen, Reba; that bad man is far away from here. 
You nor I shall ever see his face again, and it is between 
us as if he had never been. Is it not, love ? ” 

She looked humbly into his eyes; she buried her face in 
her han(^s, and silently wept. 

“ Darling, when we parted last winter, you bade me 
have faith in God. I, alas, was faithless, but you believed. 
Behold here the full and perfect fulfillment of your trust.” 

“Knowing it all — all^ you do not scorn me?” 

He looked down into her eager eyes and smiled for a 
reply. 


428 


A WOxMAN’S secret. 


“ Let US talk about it a little, Reba,” he said. “ I want 
you to tell me if you never suspected the truth concerning 
your relations with him.” 

“Never, till the moment when he himself assured me 
that I was not his wife. After the first few months, I knew 
very well that he did not love me, that I had been basely 
deceived in him ; yet he was kind in many ways ; seemed 
to be proud of me, and at times fond of me. I believed 
myself his wife; and whatever t suffered, I took it all as 
part of my wifely lot. Oh ! and I did suffer, only God 
knoAvs how much, from his coarseness and neglect.” 

Then he told her all that had happened the night before, 
and explained to her how it was that she was wholly free 
from the man who had betrayed her. 

“And, darling,” he said, “ if I had any regret for the 
money which he Avrongfully took from me, it is all gone 
now. I thank him for the deed, since, in return for it, I 
have you. Reba, look up, and be cheerful.” 

Her head was drooping, and the tears fiowed silently. 

“ Did he tell you,” she said, “ about my little baby ? ” 

“Yes, dear. There are some things that happened aftei 
he left, that I want to know about ; but I would not have 
mentioned them this evening, if you had not.” 

“ It will do me good to tell you all about it. I was not 
able to leave my room for three months. When I was, 
the first thing I did was to go out among my neighbors, 
in the little village in which I had lived, and try to get 
employment. But I was not strong, I had my babe to 
care for, and of course I was not a promising competitor 
for work. Worse than that, the people had all along 
suspected my real position, and because, in accordance 
with INIi-. Clavering’s desire, I had not cultivated any 
acquaintance with them, they were slow to believe in me. 
A few women looked pitifully upon me, but more of them 
treated me with contempt. I soon felt that I had nothing 


A woman’s secret. 


429 


to hope for from them. Then I appealed to the minister 
of the parish. He told me he was sorry for me, but saw 
nothing which he could do. It would be very easy for 
him to injure his reputation, without doing me any good; 
but he referred me to a leading man in his parish, a man 
of wealth, who could assist me, if he chose, and who had 
a reputation for charity. I went to him. Well, I never 
applied to a man again:” 

“ Reba, you shall tell me what he said to you ; I want 
to know.” 

“He said that I was far too pretty to work for a living, 
and if I would accept his protection^ I should live like a 
lady.” 

“Well, my child, it is my firm conviction, that, if you 
had had no more moral strength than most men have, 
you would not have scorned his ofifer. When the whole 
enginery of male power and privilege must be used to 
debauch women, it is a hard thing to say that they are just 
as prone to evil as men are.” 

“ If my suffering is sufficient to make one man, with the 
power and prestige which you possess, the firm, unwaver- 
ing, unselfish champion of woman, then I bless God that 
He has made me the instrument of so much good. 

“ But to go on with my story. I spent a month in these 
endeavoi's, subject to the frequent visits of Malbranche. 
I should have left the town, but I was not strong enough 
to walk and carry my child; and I could not, in that small 
place, convert my jewelry into money. At length, Mal- 
branche appeared to relent. He swore to me, again and 
again, that he meant fairly and honorably by me, and that, 
if I would go with him to his mother’s house, I should be 
well treated, till I could find some means of earning my 
own living. My aunt was dead, I should have told you 
before, and I had not a relative in the world to whom I 
could turn for help. 


430 


A woman’s secret. 


“Oh! my friend, what happened to me thereafter, I 
cannot now find strength to think about. Thank God, the 
worst was spared me. I found a friend, even in that direful 
extremity. I had not been in the house six hours till a 
girl named Lettie warned me of the plot to steal my 
baby from me, and then compel me to sin. Oh ! when I 
think of that moment, I do not wonder that women fall. 
Deserted by everything in the shape of human flesh, but 
this one poor creature, who was herself the victim of 
despair; shut into the lowest depths of hell, it seemed to 
me ; the helpless, innocent babe in my arms about to be 
torn from me, it seemed as if my brain must give way, 
and my soul succumb to despair. I tell you, my friend, 
the miracle of my story is not that I was so shamefully 
betrayed — that happens every day, to women as good and 
pure as I — but it is that I was ever saved. That, I own, 
is an almost incredible marvel. A pestilence breaks forth 
in the land, and a few hundreds of men and women are 
swept off into eternity; and men bestir themselves, and 
spend money like water, to find means to check the evil ; 
ministers pray in their churches, the people fast in their 
homes, and God is besought day and night to spare His 
children. But there is an agency abroad which slays 
women by thousands every year. It is armed with all the 
enginery which the ingenuity of men can invent; it has 
more gold at its back than the treasury of the nation; it 
has voices in legislative halls ; it has agents in the police 
of every city ; and yet men and women sleep easily in 
their beds, and never think of petitioning heaven to 
interfere for the salvation of the souls and bodies of their 
children. Nay, if you talk to them about it, they will tell 
you that this giant evil is a necessity imposed by heaven 
upon the race. If blasphemy can go farther than that, 
there must be a deeper hell than a brothel, which I do not 
believe.” 


A woman’s secret. 


431 


Mr. Gladstone heard in silence. 

“Reba,” he said, at length, “one man’s arm is very 
weak to contend with this great evil; but I see to-day, as 
I never did before, the necessity of putting power into the 
hands of women to avenge their own wrongs. When 
women cease to be considered the inferior sex, they will 
cease to be looked upon as the lawful prey of the unlawful 
passions of men; and here, with your hand in mine, and 
God above us, I pledge the power, and labor, and influence 
of my life to the cause of the civil and political enfran- 
chisement of woman; because I believe that, in so doing, 
I work most directly and efficiently for the elevation of 
the race.” 

They sat, hand in hand, in silence, looking into each 
other’s eyes. 

“I have my reward,” said Reba. “But I shall never 
get through with my story. In all those two wretched 
nights, I did not close my eyes to sleep. After I knew 
that there was a chance of gaining my freedom, I prayed 
every moment to God to teach me what to do with it. 
Then I was made to see that I must part with my child; 
there was absolutely no other escape from a life of sin. 
Oh, my friend, you cannot know the trial I underwent 
before I acquiesced in that decree. The mother-nature 
is strong in me. If the world would have given me a 
corner anywhere, in which to bring her up to womanhood 
— an honest and happy womanhood — I would have done 
drudgery all my lifetime ; I would have begged my bread, 
and hers, rather than be separated from her. But in that 
great, wicked city, there seemed no such thing possible. 
All the answer, therefore, that I could get to my weeping 
and entreaty was, simply, that I must place her in God’s 
hands and await the result. I did so, and God was good. 
He cared for her, and took my lamb to a quiet haven, that 
I might follow her. When I reached Wyndham, it was 


432 


A woman’s secret. 


necessary that I should have a name. That of my youth 
I felt that I had no claim to. Rebecca was my mother’s 
name; it was also in part my own. The month was March, 
and surely no human being was wronged if I took that 
name also. God has been good to me. Out of darkness 
has come great light; but, to thousands, the way I was 
thrust into, is a way that leads to an infamy that is 
unspeakably worse than anything which we call death.” 

Reba’s eyes, shining with tears, were fixed on distance, 
and the agony of remembrance in them pierced her lover’s 
heart. 

“Reba,” he said, “there is now no shadow of separation 
between you and me. Lay your drooping head upon my 
shoulder; trust your weary, weary frame to my embrace. 
There is no fiber of my heart that is not strong for you, 
that is not true to you, that does not own you friend, wife, 
and rightful queen; that will not yield you protection and 
allegiance, forever and for evermore.” 

So the heart of the rose is enfolded in its cherishing 
circlet of leaves ; so the vehement, masterful ocean 
encompasses the smiling, fruitful earth. 

Oh! to a woman’s heart what bliss is sweeter than the 
certainty of sure protection, unshaken constancy, and a 
love so true that, though she reveal her heart to its inmost 
core, there is no possibility of doubt, detraction or mis- 
conception. 

To souls like these there come supreme moments in the 
enjoyments of love, when, to the purest ecstasy of every 
physical and intellectual capacity, is added, through the 
super-sensuous powers of the woman, an infiux of spiritual 
life and light, from the very heavens themselves, which 
lifts and thrills and makes glorious the whole being ; and 
is, to the two souls fused in this divine passion, a broader, 
deeper, spiritual experience than any gained in church or 
temple, and only less exalted than those rare moments 


A woman’s secret. 


433 


when the soul stands face to face with God. To this 
supreme rapture, the gross delights of the sensualist are 
no more to be compared than the feast of the blubber- 
eating Esquimaux to the nectar and ambrosia of Olympus. 

Nothing short of this, the sweet, harmonious waking of 
the full diapason of their being, is worthy of that creative 
power, almost divine, which nature bestows upon two 
loving hearts. 

Alas ! alas ! how many noble souls, cherishing the 
instinctive prescience of these joys, have been forever 
ruined by searching through the sensualist’s paradise to 
find them. 


T 


484 


A woman’s secret. 


XLI. 

THE PESTILENCE THAT WALKETH IN DARKNESS I THE 
DESTRUCTION THAT WASTETH AT NOONDAY. 

Theodore Moss came home to spend his August vaca- 
tion. He was twenty now, a fine, manly youth, a son of 
whom any mother might be proud. Good reports followed 
him, too. He was a steady and faithful worker, and 
developed an unusual aptitude for business, and there was 
a firm and self-reliant manhood about him, which kept him 
aloof from transgression. Certainly, there was no young 
man in Wyndham whose prospects were fairer than those 
of Theodore Moss; no mother who looked up to a son, 
taller now than herself, and promising her a steadfast 
reliance in her old age, with more womanly pride and 
afiection than Mrs. Moss. 

“When I look back on all the days and nights of hard 
work and anxious watching that I’ve spent for that boy,” 
she said, “they seem just like nothing now. I tell you he 
is more to me than a fortune would be, for if he lives I 
shall never want; and then he is my boy, my own flesh 
and blood, to love and to honor, and to care for, besides.” 

Moses, in his way, was equally proud. 

“The boy wears better clothes than ever his father could, 
but he has earnt ’em, and I wish him joy of ’em. He’ll 
look out for his mother and the young ones when I’m 
gone. There is many a rich man would give half his 
fortune for a boy like Theodore.” 

And Theodore took all the gratulations and praises with 
the bright self-consciousness of a hopeful young man. He 
had done well, he meant to do better; to do all that his 
father and mother expected of him, and more besides than 


A WOMAN S SECRET. 


435 


they could dream of. He felt that his future was broader 
than the scope of their vision, and he looked forward with 
joy to the pleasant task of developing before their eyes the 
latent capacities which were stored in his blood and his 
brain. 

But with all this buoyant hopefulness he carried about 
with him a secret uneasiness. Going over to call on Miss 
Joanna and visit Milton, he easily found an opportunity of 
speaking to the doctor alone. The doctor, who had never 
kept himself aloof from youth, and who had his own ways 
and means of putting himself in sympathy with theni, soon 
detected the secret anxiety of Theodore. Kindly and with 
patient tact, he drew the cause of it to the light. It was 
the old, terrible story of temptation, of sin, of wicked 
betrayal, of suffering borne with more than Spartan 
fortitude, of recourse to charlatans, and the doctor feared, 
though he did not say it, of ultimate ruin and death ; with 
the deeper pathos of the boy’s heartfelt cry, “ DonH let it 
get to mother. 

Of this Monster who sits in his Cave of Death, and 
yearly crunches the bones of thousands of the flower of 
the world’s manhood, lured to him by cunning appliances 
of youthful passion and restless curiosity, who shall speak. 
Society lays its finger on the lip of the medical practi- 
tioner, but the mothers of sons have a right to protest 
against the blindness, and ignorance, and false teaching 
which work such havoc and destruction among the best 
blood of the nation, the travail-bought ofi*spring of their 
hea?fts and lives. 

The very framework of society, at present, is constituted 
so as almost inevitably to drive innocent and well-meaning 
boys to vicious courses. Public opinion forbids the mother 
to speak even to her own son on this matter, lest, forsooth, 
the inferior creature should meddle with and impair the 
high prerogative of the superior sex. With yearning heart 


436 


A woman’s secret. 


and tearful eye she is constrained to send him out into the 
world, full armed and panoplied at every point, but the 
very one at which he is most vulnerable. All the com- 
mandments but one she may write upon his heart, but let 
her beware how she mentions the seventh commandment in 
his hearing. God says, “Thou shalt not commit adultery.” 
Man says, “I will commit adultery, I and my sons, and 
my sons sons, and woe betide the power, of church, or 
state, or home, that shall raise hand or voice by way of 
hinderance.” 

So the boy goes out into the world, at the very age when 
his newly developed passions are in the ferment of growth, 
ready fitted to imbibe the teachings and copy the examples 
of his elders. All about him, in every grade of life, licen- 
tiousness is a matter of course among men, and its vilest 
consequences a mere pleasantry. The youth who keeps 
himself pure is a spooney, lacking in the spirit and passions 
of a man, tied still to the apron strings of that old woman, 
his mother; and the blush of innocent shame on his 
cheek, or the hot word of defense for the holy memories 
of home, are themes for scorn and contempt. 

When such a state of things is so nearly universal, it is 
no wonder that women in virtuous homes are compelled to 
regard the whole male sex as the depraved creatures which 
they proclaim themselves to be ; creatures made by this 
very course of training, in too many instances, really unable 
to resist the false appetites which drive them to brothels ; 
for it is a fact that one-half of the men of the world are the 
victims of a sensual appetite as depraved and unnatural as 
that of the drunkard for his cups. The consequence is, 
that they must be kept at arm’s length, unless they come in 
the guise of siiitors; and then, if the women are wise, they 
are to be well tried before they are trusted. In this way 
the young man, who, from any one of a dozen reasons, is 
not seeking mpmage, is unable to gratify his natural and 


A woman’s secret. 


437 


reasonable longing for a pure acquaintance with, and inti- 
mate knowledge of, the female sex, and is driven to accept 
the vile alternative which the profligacy of his elders has 
placed ready made at his hand. 

But the prayers of agonized mothers have not gone up, 
generation after generation, into the ears of an unheeding 
God. Slowly, perhaps, but surely, the time will come when 
power over these great moral issues will pass from the 
hands which have so long ignorantly profaned it, into the 
purer keeping of enlightened women. And then it will 
be gradually learned, that as a woman gains the virtue 
of self-sacrifice through her knowledge of men, so a 
man must acquire the virtue of self-control through his 
knowledge of women. So shall the great ends of love be 
consummated, and the race created anew in purity and 
strength. 

After a three weeks’ visit, Theodore went back to New 
York, leaving behind him g61den auguries in the hearts of 
all who knew him; and carrying with him, more precious 
than even his mother’s parting kiss, the smile with which 
Maude Darrell had met his modest, manly bow upon the 
street. 

Toward the next spring, the doctor went down to New 
York. He lodged, as he alw^s did, at the house of Mrs. 
Crane, a woman who had gone from Wyndham twenty 
years before, and with whom Theodore also boarded. 
There was another long consultation between the old man 
and the youth, in the light of which the doctor’s last hope 
vanished. Theodore caught the sad and downcast ray of 
his eye, and interpreted it in the true spirit, though his 
ardent soul failed to catch the widest scope of the premo- 
nition. 

“You can say nothing to encourage me,” he said, sadly. 
“Well, then, life is robbed of all that made it seem worth 
having. 


488 


A woman’s secret. 


I have suffered more than the martyrs did who were 
burned at the stake for their faith, but I am a man, and 
can bear pain. 

“ There was one of whom I dreamed. I never dared to 
say I loved her, but every step I gained was dear to me, 
because it brought me nearer to her. If she is lost to me, 
there is nothing left in life worth living for.” 

He looked up with terrible energy in his flashing eye. 

“ My curse shall rest forever and for evermore,” he said, 
“ on the man who brought this upon me ; who called my 
mother an old woman, who goaded me on by sneers at my 
rustic want of polish, and inflamed my imagination by 
hellish devices. My curse upon him and his forever — • 
forever.” 

The doctor spoke calmly to him, and strove to soothe 
his agitation, and lead him back to the gentle memories 
of home. 

“ Oh ! my poor mother,” he cried, manly tears rolling 
down his cheeks, ‘‘when you know how your boy is 
disgraced, it will kill you. Doctor,” his eye was clear 
and glittering now; “1 will never look into my mother’s 
face again.” 

The doctor left him that evening to return to Wyndham. 
Before midnight a pistol shot was heard in his room, and 
the inmates of the house, rushing in, found him lying in a 
pool of blood upon the floor. 

Of the anguish and desolation of Rachael Moss’ heart, 
I cannot speak. Bereaved by the hands of wicked men, 
as surely as if they had waylaid and murdered her darling 
by the roadside, she could turn only to God for comfort. 
His eye only measures the depths of such afliictions. His 
hand only can minister consolation. 

Months afterward, Rachel said : “ It has made me 

humbler, I think. If Theodore had lived, I might have 
triumphed over poor Jane Meredith, in the trials which 


A woman’s secret. 


439 


she has seen with her only child — the child which she has 
toiled for, and watched for, as much as I for all mine. 
And now, parted from her husband, with her little child 
upon her hands, she is a deeper trouble and anxiety than 
when she was a babe herself God teaches us how to 
sympathize with one another, and I can pray for Jane, and 
her children, with a full heart.” 

Let us turn to pleasanter themes. 

There was a quiet wedding in the church that Fall, which 
set the outward seal upon the union of two hearts, which 
had long beat only for each other. The doctor gave the 
biide away, and felt no secret pang. 

The old mansion has been refitted; the fire burns brightly 
on its hearth; faces of children gleam from its windows, 
and in the hearts of its owners eternal sunshine reigns. 

Within the year after his departure from Wyndham, 
news came, in a roundabout way, of the death of Peyton 
Clavering. He fell in a duel. 

The doctor still lives. There is a slowness . now in his 
gait, which is not deliberation, but rheumatism. He has a 
cough, too, and his eye is dimmed. Men say with respect- 
ful regret that the doctor is failing. His immediate friends 
realize to themselves, from day to day, his growing years, 
and accept nature’s consolations. But, as he rides over 
those gray and wind-swept hills, there are in every hamlet, 
and almost every farm-house, women whose eyes grow 
dim with tears, and whose hearts swell with unspoken 
apprehension, as they mark the doctor’s slow decline. 
Women by whose bedsides he has stood, when they went 
down alone into the Valley of the Shadow of Death; the 
fearless, skillful, never-failing friend, when all others failed; 
women who, in long, languishing illnesses, which no other 
eye could comprehend, knew by the silent, pitying beam 
of his, that he did comprehend, did patiently and kindly 
sympathize with, when others doubted or sneered. There 


440 


A woman’s secret. 


is a taint upon the doctor’s orthodoxy ; but the thousands 
of silent, grateful prayers from women’s hearts, which bear 
his name to heaven, are faithful witnesses there of his noble, 
manly life 


THE END. 


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